A Spoonful of Sugar and A Cupful of Salt
by Seijiro Dazai
Summary: Aikawa Mikari has just returned to Japan to live with his cousin Aikawa Eri after thirteen years in Canada. He loves cooking, so he's delighted when Misaki introduces him to Ijuuin-sensei, the famous author of The Kan, and even happier when Ijuuin invites him over to cook for him. Everyone cautions him against Ijuuin, but Mikari isn't worried–what's the worst that could happen?
1. Marukawa

A/N: I don't own Junjou Romantica because I'm not Nakamura-sensei. Please enjoy!

Chapter One: Marukawa

When Aikawa Mikari got off the airplane at Narita Airport, he felt a strange mixture of elation and anxiety. Sure, Japan wasn't a foreign country, he had been born here, but it had been thirteen years since his family had left for Canada. And even if he was technically returning home, that didn't change the fact that he was now alone in a country he scarcely knew. It was frightening to consider what could happen to him–it would be easy to make a mistake without even knowing it and end up he didn't want to imagine where. Simultaneously, however, he was filled with excitement. He was finally here, soon to start university in Japan, and he'd be living with his big-shot editor cousin Eri. Maybe instead of making a mistake, he'd happen upon a miracle, and all of his worries would drift away.

Before he could happen on either a miracle or a mistake; however, he needed to happen upon a taxi. He had arrived in the afternoon, and was planning to surprise Eri at Marukawa Publishing where she worked, but he had no idea where the publishing house was. Hopefully if he could find a taxi and tell the driver, they'd be able to take him there and after that Eri could tell him anything he needed to know. He hefted his small suitcase (his parents were mailing the rest of his belongings directly to Eri's apartment) and followed the signs to the taxi queue. Luckily, since it was the airport, there were a variety of taxis waiting and he was able to quickly get into one.

"Where to, miss?" asked the driver politely, his English no doubt carefully practiced so he could pick up more foreign tourists. He had seen Mikari's shaggy hair and feminine petiteness and mistaken him, as everyone did, for a girl. It had happened so many times in the past that Mikari barely even registered it anymore.

"Do you know Marukawa Publishing?" he asked in Japanese.

Startled by Mikari's unexpectedly male voice, the driver turned around to get a closer look at him.

"I'm sorry sir," he apologized remorsefully. "I'm afraid I mistook you for a young lady."

Mikari shrugged his shoulders. It wasn't like he cared anyway. In terms of things he could be mistaken for, a girl wasn't that bad–at least he wasn't being mistaken for a criminal or something.

"That's okay," he said, wanting to get it over with already. "So do you know Marukawa Publishing?"

The driver nodded, grateful his customer hadn't reacted angrily to the mistaken identity. The last thing he needed was a customer who yelled at him, or, worse, became violent. This young man hadn't gotten even slightly offended, he was still sitting in the taxi's back seat like nothing had happened. Relieved, the driver was only too happy to move on to the business of taxi driving.

"Sure I do," he replied proudly. "I've been driving this taxi for thirty years."

Mikari ignored him, and he turned around and started on the way to Marukawa. As they drove, the man chattered aimlessly, trying to reassure himself his customer wasn't angry with him.

"So where are you returning from?" he asked, correctly guessing that Mikari was originally Japanese.

"Canada," Mikari replied, after realizing the driver was waiting for him to respond. "My parents live in Vancouver, we moved there when I was five."

The driver carefully took an exit, then asked,

"What brings you back to Japan?"

"University," Mikari answered.

"I have daughter in high school myself," the driver said. Mikari made a noncommittal sound, wondering if he was meant to comment on the driver's statement. The man seemed to be about to launch into a telling of his life story, but was prevented when they suddenly pulled up to the front entrance of Marukawa Publishing.

"Looks like you were in luck today," the driver said as Mikari passed him some cash and grabbed his suitcase. "Usually the traffic's a lot worse, but today it was pretty light. I guess it's three o'clock in the afternoon, so that might have something to do with it, but still."

Mikari thanked him and got out of the taxi, and the driver pulled away.

He looked up at the Marukawa Publishing building before him. So this was where Eri worked. It was a five-story stone and red brick building; on the side there were two posters promoting new works published by Marukawa authors. Mikari checked the posters with interest. It seemed Usami Akihiko, one of Marukawa's star authors, had published a new book recently. Of course it would be doing good, he thought, especially since he knew it had been edited by none other than his brilliant and motivated cousin. He was suddenly excited to see her. She knew he was coming, of course, the whole thing had been worked out between his father and her after he expressed his desire to stay with her when he went to Japan, but she didn't know his exact arrival date and time, so his coming to Marukawa would be a surprise. He hoped she would be glad to see him, she had sounded excited on the phone.

He stepped towards the sliding front doors of Marukawa Publishing, carrying his suitcase. It had been thirteen years since he'd seen his cousin, but they had spoken on the phone in the interim and his parents had show him pictures of her now so he would recognize her. It seemed she had grown from a pretty teenager to a pretty young woman, and a highly successful one at that.

A young brunet man was rushing out just as he walked in.

"Aikawa?" he asked him, and the brunet replied, "Fourth floor," pointing quickly to the elevator before passing out through the sliding doors. Mikari watched him go, then followed his instructions and took the elevator up to the fourth floor. When the elevator door opened, Aikawa was standing on the other side, chatting with a young brunet man who could have been the twin of the one who had given him directions downstairs.

"What do you mean he was still sleeping when you left the apartment this morning?" she was asking, horrified. "He has another chapter due today, and I'm sure he's not done with it!"

"Eri?" Mikari asked awkwardly, unsure where he could appropriately break into their conversation. Aikawa looked up and saw him, and a smile immediately broke onto her previously about-to-go-nuclear face.

"Mikari!" she exclaimed. "Wow, you look so grown up. It's been so long: welcome back to Japan!" She turned to the green-eyed brunet at her side. "Misaki, this is Aikawa Mikari, my cousin. Mikari, this is Takahashi Misaki, my coworker."

"Nice to meet you, Takahashi-kun," Mikari said, noting with interest that Misaki's build was almost as feminine as his own. It wasn't often he met someone who was built like him; he wondered if Misaki, too, had been mistaken for a girl before.

"You to, Aikawa-kun," replied Misaki. He was about to continue, but Aikawa cut in before he could.

"I'd better head to your place and gripe that terrible rabbit to death about his deadline tardiness," she said. "I'm sorry Misaki, but can you watch Mikari for me? You don't mind, do you, Mikari? I'd take you with me, but I don't want Akihiko to kill you." Before the two could react, she zipped into the elevator Mikari had just vacated and pushed the button for the ground floor, the door shutting behind her.

Misaki and Mikari watched her go, then Mikari looked over to Misaki and noticed the green-eyed man was wearing his coat as if he, too, was about to go out.

"I don't know what she thought I was doing, standing by the elevator," Misaki grumbled. "I have a deadline-avoiding author to confront today, too."

"I can just wait here somewhere until she comes back, I guess," offered Mikari, feeling a bit disappointed. Sure, he understood how busy Eri was, but he had been hoping she could spare him a little time. He supposed surprising her at work perhaps hadn't been the best way to go.

"That's okay," said Misaki, the lines around his mouth softening, "I can't just leave you here. Ijuuin-sensei will be depressed, sure, but he won't be frothing at the mouth like Usagi-san, so I guess it's safe to take you along, if you don't mind."

The name rang a bell in the back of Mikari's mind.

"By Ijuuin-sensei, could you perhaps be talking about Ijuuin Kyo?" he asked hesitantly, doubting it would be the case.

Misaki's eyes began to light up. "You know him?"

"Yeah, of course, how could I not know about the author of _The Kan_?" Mikari replied. "I like cooking, so when I heard about it I decided to give it a read. I've read every volume now; Eri sends them to me since they're not available in Canada."

Misaki grasped his hands tightly, the light in his eyes getting brighter. "A fellow fan! This is perfect! Ijuuin-sensei always gets really down when deadline time comes around, since he's worried his work won't be good enough. Of course it always is, but I know if you told him you like it it will cheer him right up! It's worked for me before."

Mikari guessed Misaki was probably a super-fan from the way he was overreacting about Ijuuin's work. _Must be pretty great to get to work with someone you idolize_ , he thought. Misaki, pausing to let him put his suitcase at his desk, dragged him by the hand he was still holding into the newly returned elevator, out onto the street, and down into the subway. The young man paid for both of their tickets, and they headed to the apartment to meet Ijuuin Kyo.


	2. A Depressed Mangaka

A/N: Again, I'm not Nakamura-sensei and as such don't own JJR. Thanks for making it to chapter two and please enjoy!

Chapter Two: A Depressed Mangaka

When they were in the elevator heading up to Ijuuin's apartment, Misaki turned to Mikari, his previously enthusiastic face grave.

"You remember I mentioned Ijuuin-sensei gets depressed around deadline time?" he said. "Well, I just want you to be prepared for it. He and his apartment get a little… rough. He's usually a pretty cool guy, but he can really fall down hard when he has another story due. You understand, right?"

Mikari nodded, wondering what he was going to see beyond Ijuuin's door. Misaki seemed oddly worried, so he was on his guard. They came up to the apartment and Misaki took out a key to unlock it. Mikari wondered if it was common practice for authors to give their editors keys to their apartments–he knew Eri had a key to Usami-sensei's apartment at least. It seemed rather personal to do that, but he understood authors liked to avoid their editors around deadline time, yet books continued to be published, so he rationalized that it must be through the work of tirelessly invasive editors who would even break down an author's door to get a new manuscript. Apparently at least a few authors had given their editors keys so they wouldn't have to have their doors rehung every time they were late on a deadline.

Misaki swung open the door and Mikari blanched at his first glimpse of Ijuuin's apartment. On the other side of the door lay a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Books, papers, empty cups of coffee and instant ramen were scattered all over the floor, mixed in with crumpled clothes and crushed cans of beer. It looked like the inhabitant had simply dropped each thing directly onto the floor beneath him when he was finished with it. Speaking of the inhabitant, there was a man collapsed lifelessly on the floor between the couch and table, haphazardly partially covered by a dingy yellow blanket, but it was difficult to believe he was really the popular mangaka Ijuuin Kyo. Pale brown hair, dyed a sickly gray color by lack of personal hygiene, completely covered Ijuuin's face, but Mikari could imagine the expression it wore wouldn't be something acceptable for human civilization if he could have seen it. A deadly haze of purple and black hovered over the entire room, making it look like the aftermath of a disaster zone. He remembered Misaki's warning and guessed this was what abject depression could do to a person.

"Go on," Misaki whispered from behind him. "Just tell him what makes you like his work. Don't worry, he's not actually dead, no matter how much he might look it."

Mikari took off his black wool coat and hung it on the coat rack, suspecting this might take a while. He pushed his glasses more securely up his nose, straightened his scarf and sweater, and forged a path into the mess to crouch at the side of the mangaka corpse.

"Ijuuin-sensei?" he began hesitantly. "My name is Aikawa Mikari, I came here with Takahashi-kun. I'm a fan of The Kan, you see. My cousin sent me one of your manga when she heard I like cooking. I really enjoyed it, and convinced her to send me every volume so I could read them all. I've been living in Canada, you see, and I couldn't buy them there, but luckily she lives here in Tokyo, so she was able to get them for me."

"See, Ijuuin-sensei?" encouraged Misaki, who had joined him at Ijuuin's side. "The Kan even has international fans! I'm sure Aikawa-kun's waiting in anticipation for your next volume, and I'm confident you won't disappoint him."

"Exactly," Mikari confirmed.

"Really?" came a weak voice from underneath the matted hair, "someone really came all the way from Canada to see me?"

Mikari was about to correct him, but was silenced by a throat-cutting motion from Misaki. _Right_ , he thought, _better let him have that little delusion_. _He looks like he needs it_.

"Come on Sensei, you can do it!" Misaki rallied.

"Yeah," added Mikari, "You haven't let your readers down yet, and I'm sure you won't now."

Misaki looked pleased, giving Mikari a thumbs-up.

Ijuuin rolled onto his back, the hair falling off of his face. "Okay," he relented.

"Great!" Misaki cried. "Now go take a shower, and Aikawa and I will clean the place up while you're gone, okay?"

Mikari, worried about how unwell the mangaka looked (he didn't want him to fall and hit his head in the shower), held out his hand to help him up. Ijuuin obediently reached out and took it, and Mikari pulled him up, supporting the man over his shoulder. He half-dragged, half-carried Ijuuin to the shower.

"Are you going to be okay on your own?" he asked. Ijuuin had been somewhat revived by their little journey, but Mikari couldn't get his earlier image of the author, slumped on the tile floor with his skull cracked open and blood mixing with the water coming from the shower, out of his head. Ijuuin nodded, and Mikari, still not completely convinced, left him slumped against the doorpost, staring at the tile floor and blinking slowly as he woke himself from his daze.

He returned back down the hallway to where Misaki was picking trash up off the apartment floor. Rolling up his sleeves, he bent down and began gathering the books and replacing them on the shelves.

"Is it always like this?" he asked Misaki. The green-eyed man smiled, tossing his collection of empty instant ramen cups into the trash.

"Not usually this bad," he replied. "But something like this will happen at least once a year. Actually, I first met him when he was like this. I was at Marukawa bringing a manuscript to Usagi-san and Isaka-san thought it would be a good idea to use my enthusiasm to bring Ijuuin-sensei out of his slump."

"And you were still willing to become his editor even after seeing him like that?"

"Well, I really love his work," Misaki explained. "Plus, he likes me." At these words, the green-eyed man made an annoyed face and Mikari wondered what could be annoying about someone liking you. Wasn't that good? "So I guess it's a little easier on me that it would be on someone else."

Mikari folded up the blanket, nodding. He understood from his cousin how hard it could be to be an editor, even if you really loved the job. The long hours, the difficult authors, trying to give your authors as much time as possible without making the book late to print: Aikawa had always described it as a massive headache, but she kept at it. He supposed it was really something after the job had been done and another book made it to press to realize that all of your torturous work had finally paid off.

Just as he and Misaki were finally getting the last of the miscellaneous artifacts off the floor and into their rightful places, Ijuuin emerged from the shower. Now that he was cleaned up, Mikari could see he was an attractive man, damp brown hair framing a handsome face, midnight blue eyes deep wells within it. He had changed out of whatever thousand year old rags had been covering his body before and was now wearing a dark blue long-sleeved shirt and black pants, his feet bare.

"Misaki, thank you," he said, smiling a sly smile. Mikari cast a glance at the short brunet and saw he looked distinctly uncomfortable. He didn't understand why, but, not wanting Misaki to be ill at ease, he set about attracting Ijuuin's attention to himself.

"Ah, Ijuuin-sensei, I don't think we were properly introduced before. My name is Aikawa Mikari."

"Yes, the boy who came from Canada for me," Ijuuin said deviously. Something about his smile both annoyed and enchanted Mikari, and the glasses-clad boy assumed it must be something related to this that made Misaki uncomfortable in the tall man's presence.

"Sure," he replied dismissively. He hadn't, but what would be the harm in letting the mangaka think he had, after all.

Ijuuin smirked and accepted the coffee Misaki brought over to him.

"So what do you like about my manga?" he asked, taking a drink from the cup.

"Well, like I said, I'm into cooking," Mikari explained. "Back home, I would try to duplicate the dishes that appeared in The Kan. You always provided fascinating new challenges for me, and my cooking skills have grown a lot because of you."

"I'm afraid I'm not much of a cook myself," Ijuuin admitted. "I always wished I was, but I guess I just don't have the talent." He smirked more broadly at Mikari. "Won't you make me something sometime?"

Mikari both liked and didn't like Ijuuin's smile, but he couldn't resist a request for his cooking.

"Absolutely," he said immediately. "What would you like?"

Ijuuin looked glutted on satisfaction at his words. "Whatever you make best, of course," he replied.

Mikari nodded, already planning what he was going to make.

"Okay," he answered absentmindedly. "Could it be sometime next week though? I just got here today, so I don't really know where to get all the ingredients."

Ijuuin looked surprised at his rapid response, clearly not expecting the young man would make such a concrete promise, and for so soon.

"Take the time you need," he said, and Mikari nodded, mentally listing the ingredients he knew he'd need. "I'll give you my number so we can set a date."

Misaki flinched at the word 'date', but Mikari didn't even heard it, absorbed as he was in menu planning. He took out his phone and gave it to Ijuuin and the mangaka entered the respective numbers in his and Mikari's phones. That done, he turned to Misaki.

"The manuscript's in my study, Takahashi-kun, I'll go get it for you." With that, he disappeared back down the hallway.

When Mikari looked over at his brown-haired companion, the man was looking at him with worry in his eyes.

"He's more dangerous than you think," he cautioned.

Mikari wasn't concerned, and he told Misaki so. "It's just cooking," he said. "It's something I'm good at, so I want to share it with others. No one better than one of my inspirations, right?"

Misaki didn't look consoled, but he nodded.

"Just be careful," he said. Mikari assured him he would.

Ijuuin reappeared from the hallway, large envelope in hand. He handed it to Misaki and the brunet gratefully took it.

"I'd better get back to Marukawa," he said, and the two men put on their coats in preparation to leave.

"Goodbye Takahashi-kun, Aikawa-kun," Ijuuin farewelled. "It was nice to meet you, and I look forward to eating your cooking, Aikawa-kun."

Mikari nodded, waving goodbye, and followed Misaki back to Marukawa Publishing.


	3. Aikawa Goes Home

A/N: Not Nakamura-sensei, just an admirer of hers. Also, I want to acknowledge DandereDaisy, who inspired me to write a JJR fic, and Shiranai Atsune, who's been very helpful to me in my story planning. Okay, thank you for continuing to read and please enjoy chapter three!

Chapter Three: Aikawa Goes Home

When Misaki and Mikari returned to Marukawa, Aikawa hadn't yet returned from wrenching another manuscript out of Usami-sensei, so Misaki gave Mikari an exclusive The Kan manga he hadn't yet read and the young man settled down to read and wait. A few hours later, after he had read three volumes, his cousin returned, apologizing for abandoning him.

"I understand," Mikari told her, setting the finished manga back on the desk. "Authors can be savage beasts, it seems. Takahashi-kun took me with him to get a manuscript from Ijuuin-sensei, and that guy was almost dead when we got there."

"Ah, him?" Aikawa replied. "Yes, his depression's legendary. How was it?"

"We cheered him up," Mikari explained. "I'm actually going to cook for him sometime next week. I hope you can show me where I can get the ingredients."

"Right, he was an inspiration for your cooking, wasn't he?" she said. She promised to show him the shopping district where he could get any ingredient he might need, then added, "I don't know if Misaki warned you, but be careful around him, okay? He can get a little… _intense_."

Mikari nodded, confirming that Misaki had given him the same warning. He wasn't worried though. What could happen? He was only going to make some food for the man. The only way he could imagine that going badly would be if he made something inedible, and he was confident enough in his cooking skills that that could never happen. He wasn't generally that confident of a person, but as for his cooking, he had practiced endlessly and knew that as long as he stuck to what he knew he couldn't fail.

"Now that I've got the manuscript, I'm pretty much done for the day," his cousin said. "I mean, I still have to edit it, God knows it's going to need it, but I can do that at home after I get you settled." Making sure the manuscript was secure in her bag, she led Mikari back down to the subway and they took the train to her apartment building. It was in a high-rise just as Ijuuin's had been, and Mikari wondered briefly whether every apartment building in Tokyo was this tall. He followed her up to an apartment on the tenth floor.

Aikawa's apartment was sparsely decorated, but it was pleasingly neat and simple to Mikari's eyes. The main room was filled with bookshelves stuffed with books, the legacy of Aikawa's job, and Mikari was happy to see them, as he loved to read. The kitchen, however, was less than excellent: there was a rice cooker and the cabinets contained plenty of pots and pans, but the fridge was almost bare of ingredients, carrying only some energy drinks, milk, and bento meals from the convenience store.

"As you can see, I'm too busy to do much cooking," she explained. "With you here, though, we'll have better meals, I hope."

Mikari assured her that that was the case, then followed her into the room that was to be his bedroom and unpacked his suitcase swiftly, explaining to Aikawa that his parents had sent the rest of his belongings by mail and that they would likely arrive soon. She nodded, understanding the desire to travel light, and proceeded to show him around the rest of the apartment, which consisted of her bedroom, the bath, and a small room with a washing machine and dryer.

"Please do consider this your home," she encouraged, and Mikari agreed he would.

Next, she took him back out to show him the shopping district as she had promised. Once there, Mikari told her that he wanted to look around for awhile and promised he had memorized the route there. She was evidently glad of the reprisal, as she had work to do, and left him at the supermarket, reminding him to call her if he had any trouble.

Once she had gone, Mikari wandered around the shopping district, making note of the placement of all of the shops and buying a few kitchen essentials. Luckily, the district had a variety of shops, and he was able to find all of the food items he knew he would require for his meal with Ijuuin. Once he was fully satisfied with his knowledge of the market, he returned to the apartment. Aikawa was in the main room, busy at work on Usami-sensei's manuscript, so he headed into the kitchen and began preparing their dinner.

When she heard the meat and vegetables sizzling in the pan, Aikawa got up and walked over to the kitchen to see what her cousin was making.

"It's just a simple stir-fry," he replied to her inquiry, tossing soy sauce into the pan with a practiced hand.

"Wow, you've gotten really good," she commented, impressed with the way he didn't seem to need to measure anything.

"Say that after you've eaten, not before," he admonished her, but he was heartened to hear her compliment. A few minutes later, he dished the food out into two bowls and they sat down at the table to eat.

"Itadakimas," they chorused, digging it.

"My comment still stands," Aikawa said after a few bites, "this is delicious!"

"Thank you."

Later, after Mikari had cleaned away the leftovers and washed the dishes, he sat alone in his room, thinking back over his day. One day in Japan and he had already made two new friends: Ijuuin, the author who inspired his cooking, and his editor Misaki, who shared Mikari's interest in Ijuuin's work and had made their meeting possible. He wasn't worried about Misaki and Eri's warnings about Ijuuin: he might seem cunning, but Mikari had his wits about him, and he was sure the mangaka meant well and was pretty much harmless. He only wanted to try Mikari's cooking, and who wouldn't–it was his best quality. The same sense of excitement he had experienced at Narita that morning came back to him as he thought about it. Who would have known he would get the chance to meet the famous author of a manga he enjoyed so much? Not only that, but he would be getting to prepare dinner for the man who had been an inspiration in his culinary experimentation. At that thought, his anticipation was mixed with worry. He had better decide on something that would surprise and delight Ijuuin-sensei; the dishes would have to be the best ones in his arsenal. He ran his mind over his memorized recipes until he settled on a menu. Yes, it would have to be that, and that, and that. He picked a small assortment of dishes in his mind, composing the perfect arrangement, then took out his phone and notated a shopping list in it. There were a few dishes he wanted to trial with Eri before making them for Ijuuin, but he had time. He would make sure this was a meal Ijuuin would never forget.


	4. Preparing the Ingredients

A/N: As always, I don't own JJR. Thank you for continuing to read and please enjoy.

Chapter Four: Preparing the Ingredients

When Mikari woke up the next morning, his head ached. Light streamed brightly in the window and he turned his head away–it hurt his eyes. Glancing over, he saw that he had slept until past noon: it seemed jet lag was taking its toll. He sighed and closed his eyes, but he knew it was no use, he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep with this light. Besides, his parents had told him that the best way to combat jet lag was to acclimatize yourself to the local time as quickly as possible. That meant he had to get up, and, groaning, he did so. He stumbled into the kitchen and opened the fridge, sucking down one of Aikawa's energy drinks. It tasted predictably vile, but it did manage to wake him up slightly, and he returned to his room and got dressed, deciding the best way to keep himself awake would be to go out. Better start getting an idea of his neighborhood. Aikawa had left him a note saying she would be back at six if she could manage to get off work on time, so he had the day to himself. A few minutes later, dressed in his favorite black pants and dark blue sweater, he stood in the lobby of Aikawa's apartment building and prepared to wander about the neighborhood.

The first place he went was the shopping district, as he knew the way from yesterday. There, he stopped at the fruit and vegetable shop and bought an apple to eat for his breakfast, then at the bakery in the supermarket, where he bought a roll to supplement the apple. After retracing his path from yesterday, now checking the shopping list on his phone against the stores to make sure he could get everything he needed (he could), he headed out towards the train station, recalling the route he had followed Aikawa home the evening before. Then he wandered aimlessly around the area near the station, doubling back a few times when he got lost. He found a nice coffee shop, a flower stand, and a little shrine that he particularly liked, taking care to locate a convenience store where he could buy any non-food essentials. Finally, he returned to the shopping district to buy food for their dinner that night and, that done, set out for home.

After stocking the fridge to his liking, he sank down on the couch, resting from his day of exploration. Then he took out his phone, deciding that now he had his menu in mind, he should get in touch with Ijuuin to set their dinner.

Ijuuin picked up almost as soon as the first ring finished.

"Hello?" he asked, "This is Ijuuin."

"Good afternoon, Ijuuin-sensei. Aikawa Mikari here, we met yesterday."

He heard a pause, then Ijuuin chuckled. Mikari could imagine vividly the look he knew would be on the older man's face: what he had come to think of as the mangaka's characteristic mixed charming-and-irritating smirk.

"The boy who came from Canada for me, yes, I remember," he replied. Mikari guessed Ijuuin probably knew perfectly well he hadn't come all the way from Canada just to meet an author he admired, but was keeping the false confession as a shared joke. He didn't mind it, so he told Ijuuin he was right.

"I hope you weren't calling to take back your promise," Ijuuin continued.

"Of course not," Mikari assured him. "Actually, I decided on a menu, so I thought we should set a date."

"A date, huh?" Ijuuin said slyly.

Mikari rolled his eyes. "Yes, a date, you know, like October 5th or January 14th," he responded dryly.

Ijuuin chuckled again, and Mikari smiled at his own joke.

"How about next Wednesday?" Ijuuin suggested.

"Sure," Mikari agreed. "Listen, I'll bring the ingredients with me, but how are you for kitchen utensils?"

Ijuuin chuckled a third time, and Mikari wondered what was so funny. The mangaka explained: "Oh, I _have_ all the kitchen utensils. I have so many I don't know what to do with them; in fact, I don't even know how to _use_ some of them. So many people have decided the best present for someone who writes cooking manga is kitchen supplies. I always pretend I know exactly how to use everything since that's what they expect. And I suppose I do _know_ how to use most of the things, at least on an intellectual level. But not on a practical level."

"Well, that's good," Mikari replied. "Not your lack of cooking skill, that's disgraceful, but I suppose we all have weak points. But it's good you have everything I need."

He could practically hear Ijuuin's genuine smile at his assessment of the mangaka's skills. He supposed not many people would criticize the man to his face, he was glad to be someone on good enough terms with him to do so.

"I'll have to thank Takahashi-kun for introducing us," Ijuuin said, and Mikari felt a brief flame flicker to life inside him. Just as quick as it came, however, it was gone, and Mikari ignored it, not bothering to wonder about its meaning.

"Agreed," he said, and made a mental note to text his other new friend to thank him. "I'll see you Wednesday, then?"

"I look forward to it," Ijuuin replied, "And Aikawa-kun? I have high expectations."

"Good," Mikari shot back, sounding more confident than he felt. The two exchanged goodbyes and hung up. Setting his phone down, Mikari was suddenly drenched by a wave of anxiety. His cooking inspiration had high expectations, did he? He was pretty confident in his culinary abilities, but were they really at that level? He took a deep breath and convinced himself to calm down. He had until Wednesday, after all, and he could practice on his cousin.

For the rest of that week, and into the beginning of the next, he thought constantly about cooking. He started university that Monday, and it, too, was exciting, but he was more focused on his upcoming challenge. He made each of his dishes, concentrating carefully on their preparation, and each one was proclaimed excellent by Aikawa, who swore she had never eaten better in her life.

Finally, the morning of Wednesday came, and his nerves went into high flutter. He forced himself to pay attention in his classes: he had his literature class that day, and the professor demanded absolute devotion to the class. During his lunch Misaki gave him a good luck call–he had texted the editor to tell him the day of the dinner–and again reminded Mikari to be careful around Ijuuin. Mikari obediently promised he would, and Misaki seemed satisfied. After classes got out, he rushed to the shopping district, painstaking selecting the best to be his ingredients.

At last he was ready, and he set out, determined to do his best and prepare the finest meal he could.


	5. An Unforgettable Meal

A/N: I don't own Junjou Romantica and I can't cook as well as Mikari either. But I did write this chapter, and I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter Five: An Unforgettable Meal

Shopping bag bursting with ingredients in hand, Mikari took out his phone and studied the directions Ijuuin had texted him. The previous week, when Misaki had taken him along to the mangaka's apartment, he hadn't made note of how to get there, so he had been forced to text Ijuuin and admit he would get lost without his help. The man had replied immediately, but the place names were unfamiliar to Mikari, and he already felt nervous enough about the dinner without the added anxiety of being lost. Finally, trembling with worry and excitement, Mikari arrived in front of the apartment building, recognizing it from his previous trip. When he pressed the call button for Ijuuin's apartment, the security door slid open, and he strode into the elevator, heading up.

When he got to Ijuuin's door, the author was waiting for him, dressed much as he had been before, this time in gray pants and a dark purple shirt. Mikari thought briefly that he had enough to worry about without being distracted by the man's handsome appearance, but then pushed the thought away, reminding himself he had to concentrate. Leaving his shoes and coat by the door, he walked over to the kitchen, setting his supplies on the countertop.

Washing his hands, he drew his usual apron out of his bag. He had received the rest of his belongings in the mail on Monday, and the first thing he had taken out of the boxes had been this: the apron his mother had given him when he first proclaimed his desire to learn to cook. It was a comic apron, pastel blue decorated with diminutive pictures of sushi and sashimi. He draped it over his chest and tied it around his back. When he turned back to Ijuuin, the mangaka laughed, seeing what he was wearing.

"What?" Mikari shot at him, in no mood to be laughed at for his quirky attire.

Ijuuin smirked, and Mikari was reminded again how simultaneously aggravating and bewitching the author's smirk could be. His nerves ratcheted up a level, but Ijuuin simply said,

"That's a cute apron you have there, Aikawa-kun."

Mikari sighed, trying to release his anxiety. "My mother bought it for me when I first started cooking," he told the man. Ijuuin only smirked more broadly.

"How charming," he commented.

Mikari decided that the best course of action was to simply ignore him, and he turned back to the other countertop and began dinner preparations. Several minutes of chopping, slicing, simmering and stirring later, he removed the apron and began dinner service.

"Tonight's meal will be miso soup, followed by crab and shrimp sashimi served with fresh tsukemono and blood orange slices, followed by a special dish of kimchi and pork belly, with handmade green tea and adzuki bean mochi for dessert," he said with pride, bringing the first of the aforementioned items to the table, along with a pot of green tea he had prepared.

"Wow," Ijuuin said honestly, scanning his eyes over the selection of dishes sitting on the kitchen countertop. "You really went all-out, Aikawa-kun."

Mikari gave the comment his best smirk.

"Judgement should come after you've eaten, not before," he chided. He set one of the bowls down before Ijuuin and sat down, placing the other bowl before himself.

"Itadakimas," the two chorus, and Mikari watched Ijuuin with laser focus as the brown-haired man took his first sip of Mikari's cooking.

The smug look that Mikari hated (and, if he was honest, secretly loved) vanished from Ijuuin's face the moment the liquid touched his lips. His face was stripped bare of any pretense and he closed his eyes, savoring the excellent taste.

"Delicious," he said seriously, draining every last drop.

A surge of happiness burned through Mikari, and he drank his soup quickly, wanting to continue to impress Ijuuin with the next courses. He collected their bowls and returned to the counter, exchanging them for the plates of sashimi. Ijuuin watched him go, an impressed expression on his features. He hadn't met someone this enthusiastic since Misaki; this might be fun. And so, for each superb dish the boy brought him, he rewarded his hard work with tidbits of positive feedback, complimenting his skill, style, and creativity. It wasn't as if it was hard: the dishes really were excellent, restaurant-quality at the very least. He could see the boy had a lot of potential and wondered vaguely if he was planning to become a chef someday. It was certainly within the range of his talents.

With each piece of praise the mangaka awarded him, the light shone brighter in Mikari's eyes. Ijuuin's heart softened towards the boy, and he thought to himself that it really was true what they said about a person becoming more attractive when they did something they loved. He already thought Mikari was cute, but it seemed that cooking only made him cuter. He rewarded the boy with a true smile, which turned into a smirk when he saw how easily Mikari blushed to see it.

"That was the best meal I ever had," he said when he had polished off the last of the mochi. Mikari blushed again, and Ijuuin deviously added, "You'll have to cook for me again some time."

"S-sure," Mikari replied. Of course he wanted to cook for his inspiration again, but he was starting to get an idea of what Misaki and Aikawa meant when they cautioned him against the mangaka. He'd have to be careful if he didn't want to get his heart broken. He knew all too well he had the tendency to read too much into certain things, it had gotten him into trouble in the past.

"Next week?" Ijuuin pressed, reaching across the table to place his hand on Mikari's. Mikari froze, unable to move his hand. He registered distantly that he was trembling, although with fear or anticipation he couldn't tell.

"S-sure," he stuttered again. Ijuuin smiled and removed his hand, and Mikari hurriedly got up and took the remaining dishes to the sink. Once he could no longer see Ijuuin's eyes on him, he relaxed a little. What was his problem? The man just enjoyed his cooking and wanted to eat more of it, that was all. It made sense, given the hard work he'd put into the meal. There was no reason to interpret further meaning into it, it was a simple as that.

He washed some dishes while he calmed himself, listening as Ijuuin got up and moved to the sofa. Then he heard the scratching of a pen: presumably the mangaka was either sketching or writing. He briefly considered asking to see it, then decided against it–he didn't want to spoil the surprise if it was something that would be published in time. By the time he was finished with the dishes he had calmed down completely. He packed the leftovers in a container and placed it in Ijuuin's fridge, noting the author's food stock was much more comprehensive than his cousin's. _Good_ , he thought. Everyone should eat a balanced diet, even if they lived a busy life. He turned to Ijuuin and saw the author indeed appeared to be drawing something, just as he had predicted.

Ijuuin looked up and saw the boy watching him. Curving his lips into a small smile, he set down his pen.

"Say, Aikawa-kun, I was wondering something," he began, and Mikari came out from behind the kitchen counter to stand beside the sofa. "Are you by any chance related to Aikawa Eri?"

"Oh, yes," Mikari replied, sitting down on the couch opposite the mangaka. "Eri's my cousin, she's who I'm staying with since my parents are still in Canada."

Ijuuin nodded, his suspicion confirmed. "That would explain how you know Takahashi," he commented. "I know Aikawa Eri has the extremely unenviable job of being the editor to his rabid landlord."

"Huh?" Mikari inquired, confused.

"Oh, you didn't know? Takahashi-kun lives with Usami Akihiko," explained Ijuuin.

"Hm," Mikari mumbled, pondering what he'd just learned. It was strange that a young man like Misaki would live with a great author like Usami-sensei, even if he was an editor. He wondered how their living situation had come about. Considering what Aikawa had told him about Usami's grating personality, it was amazing the good-humored brunet put up with him. Usami must act differently with his roommate than his editor, less terrible. It made sense: if Misaki wasn't hounding him about deadlines, Usami wouldn't have to breath dragon fire at him, so they would probably get along better. Still, it was unusual.

Ijuuin watched him, wondering what he thought of the new information. It was part of his way of testing the boy's reaction to homosexuality, if only as a gentle suggestion. But Mikari didn't seem to realize the full implications of Misaki and Usami's cohabitation. _Well_ , Ijuuin thought, _if he continues being friends with the green-eyed man, he'll find out soon enough_.

"You had better get going home," he said, disrupting the boy's reverie. "It's getting pretty late."

Mikari looked out the window, surprised when he saw how dark the sky was. Evidently he hadn't been aware of the passage of time.

"Ah, you're right," he said. "I'll see you next week, then?"

Ijuuin confirmed the second dinner, and Mikari left, already brainstorming next week's menu.

A/N: Okay, so those of you who've been reading since the beginning know this used to be a crossover with Sekai-ichi Hatsukoi. I changed it to just Junjou Romantica because I realized that it was really just a JJR story. I hope you don't mind. Anyway, thank you for reading, as always.


	6. Misaki's Rabbit

A/N: I don't own Junjou Romantica, sadly. Thank you for continuing to read and I hope you like chapter six! (It's Usagi-san's first appearance, after all.)

Chapter Six: Misaki's Rabbit

The next day Mikari was sitting in the university cafeteria, eating a bowl of tempura udon, when his phone rang.

"You're popular," commented Fujikage Kikue, a classmate who he had taken to eating lunch with. She had been there the day before when Misaki had called him, this was the source of her comment.

Mikari took out his phone and saw that once again it was Misaki calling.

"Hello, Takahashi-kun?" he said.

"Aikawa-kun, how are you?" Misaki asked.

"I'm okay," he replied, making a face at Fujikage. Hearing who was calling, she had begun to wiggle her eyebrows suggestively, and Mikari found it irritating. She saw his scowl and smirked sweetly at him.

"How was your dinner?" Misaki questioned, and Mikari suddenly understood he had called to check up on him.

"It was good," he reassured the young editor. "Ijuuin-sensei said he liked my food, and that's what I was hoping for, at least."

"There was nothing… _off_ about him?"

Mikari rolled his eyes–pointlessly, considering Misaki couldn't see him.

"No," he replied, deciding not to mention the peculiar moment when the mangaka had almost taken his hand. Sure, there had been moments where he wondered what was going on in Ijuuin's head, but there was no need to tell Misaki that. The brunet would only worry, and Mikari didn't want to get him unnecessarily worked up.

"Ah, well that's a relief," Misaki said, sighing. "Say, speaking of dinner, would you like to come over to my place tonight? Don't worry, I'll cook, it's something I enjoy too."

"You mean to you and Usami-sensei's place?"

Silence emanated from the phone at his question. It must not be something that wasn't common knowledge, then. Across from him, Fujikage, who had been zoning him out, perked up at the mention of the famous author's name.

"I guess Aikawa told you, huh?" Misaki forced out.

Mikari made a snap decision to go along with Misaki and pretend it was his cousin, and not Ijuuin, who had told him of their cohabitation.

"M-hm," he agreed, careful neither to overtly agree nor disagree. "And yeah, I'd love to."

"Come by Marukawa at six, then," Misaki said. Mikari promised he would and hung up. As soon as he put down the phone Fujikage began questioning him.

"You know Usami Akihiko?" she asked, her expression telling him she doubted he was capable of such a high honor.

"My cousin is his editor," he told her.

"That's right, you're popular with _all_ the literary types," she said, her voice flavored lightly with scorn. He had made the mistake of enthusiastically telling her with whom he was having dinner the previous night, and she had laughed at his sudden uncharacteristic energy. "How did it go last night, by the way?"

Mikari sighed, deciding to tell Fujikage the truth if not Misaki. "He smirks a lot," he admitted, making an irritated face at the memory, "but he said it was the best meal he had ever had."

Fujikage scoffed at him, watching him preen at the remembrance of Ijuuin's compliment.

"What?"

"You sure think highly of your cooking, don't you?" she said, her face arranged into a smirk not utterly unlike Ijuuin's.

This time it was Mikari's turn to smirk. "You'll see, if you can ever get a spot on my busy calendar," he retorted. "Ijuuin-sensei's already asked me to cook for him again next week."

"And you said yes? Moving pretty fast, aren't you," she teased. Mikari scowled at him, but she flashed him a quick smile to show she was joking. "Anyway, be sure to pencil in my name somewhere in that busy schedule of yours."

He assured her he would, and together they headed off to their next classes.

The rest of the day flew quickly by, and soon enough Mikari found himself getting on the subway, Marukawa bound. He wondered what visiting Misaki's apartment would be like. Since he lived with Usami-sensei, it was bound to be luxurious, he reasoned. He was interested to see how the two of them acted around each other. Misaki seemed to him like a hardworking and somewhat shy man, someone who was kind to everyone he met, always trying to help people even if they didn't return the favor. His impression of Usami, on the other hand, was different. Influenced by Aikawa's demonic portrayal, he considered the author to be harsh and determined, someone who blazed a trail in whatever direction he wanted to go, no matter what he left burning in his path. In fact, he had been surprised to hear Usami lived with anyone at all: the person in Aikawa's descriptions had always seemed to him like someone who lived a life as solitary as a proud lone wolf. To have a longtime roommate, and someone like Misaki at that, seemed completely antithetical to his character.

When he reached the publishing house Misaki was standing in the lobby waiting for him.

"Mikari!" he exclaimed, giving the raven-haired boy a smile. "It's nice to see you again!"

Mikari returned the greeting, and Misaki led him back down into the subway. As they rode, he turned to his young friend, saying,

"I know as Aikawa-san's cousin, you probably think Usagi-san's some sort of evil spirit, but he's not like that. Sure, he's overly protective, always getting in my face and making a fuss out of nothing, but he's a good guy. He's really helped me out… I wouldn't have become the person I am today without him." His face was open, and Mikari could see he meant what he said.

"Rationally, I know he can't really be exactly like Eri describes him," he assured the brunet. "She's forced to see a certain side of him, the author who avoids his deadlines, and that's bound to make her negative. But she sticks with him despite the hardship, so she must see something good in him." He paused, smiling reassuringly, and added, "I'd rather look to see that–there's no point in judging someone only knowing their weaknesses, after all."

Misaki's smile shone happily as he heard Mikari's words, and he continued,

"I told him you were coming, and I promised him you weren't a threat, so he _should_ be nice to you." He scrunched his face into a frown. "I'll get on his case if he isn't, anyway."

A few minutes later, they were riding up in the elevator of an impressively expensive-looking apartment complex. So this was what the royalties of so many successful novels bought, thought Mikari. Most authors struggled and had a second job besides writing; it was rare an author could live on writing alone, especially this richly. It was the legacy of years of hard work, he knew, and he was intrigued to meet the man behind the catalogue of prestigious literary awards.

Slouched on the red couch, dressed formally in a vest and tie, sat Marukawa's famous best-selling author, drinking a cup of coffee and smoking a cigarette. He cut an imposing figure, tall with a head covered in gray hair and two dark violet eyes narrowed in slits. Mikari saw the implied criticism in his expression and immediately determined not to let himself be cut down by the impressive man.

"Ah, Usagi-san, this is Aikawa Mikari, Aikawa's cousin from Canada," Misaki introduced, for some reason blushing. "He's the one I told you about, who helped me before."

"With that obnoxious mangaka?" Usami questioned, scowling. Mikari found his own face shaping itself to match the author's. What right did he have to call Ijuuin-sensei obnoxious? Sure, the guy could be a little weird, but at least he was friendly. That was more than Usami could manage, it seemed.

"So you're the famous author," he said, his voice coming out more sharply than he intended. "Cool. Mind if I smoke, too?"

Usami shrugged dismissively and Mikari shook a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, stuck the end in his mouth, and lit up. He'd had to smoke outside since he'd arrived in Japan–Eri wouldn't let him light up in the apartment for fear he'd accidentally cause a conflagration–and it was a nice change to get to do so inside. Sure, it was a bad habit, but it relaxed him, and the atmosphere seemed like it could use something to lessen the tension.

Replacing his lighter in his pocket, he strode over and sat down on the identical couch opposite Usami, giving the huge teddy bear sitting at the end the side-eye. Who over the age of nine had that kind of thing anyway? It certainly wasn't the kind of thing you'd expect from someone with Usami's personality, anyway. The violet-eyed author raised a long gray eyebrow and indicated the panda-shaped ashtray sitting on the table, and Mikari nodded, taking a long drag of his cigarette, then pausing to tap the ash into the panda's open mouth.

"So," Usami began, his voice as judgemental as his gaze, "what brings you back to Japan, Aikawa-kun?"

"Usagi-san!" complained Misaki from where he stood at the kitchen counter, slicing apples. "You promised to be nice!"

The tall man smirked, "I am being nice. It's common etiquette to ask a traveller his reason for travelling, isn't it?"

"I decided to go to university here," Mikari replied, silencing the brunet's attempt at a retort. "I thought it would be a nice change of pace."

"Hmm," Usami commented. "What are you studying?"

"Well, my parents want me to become a doctor, but I'm not so sure," answered Mikari. "My father's one, and his life seems like a never-ending stressful hospital shift. I'm not interested in living like that if that's what being a doctor means."

"What _do_ you want to do?"

Mikari frowned. Although he hated to admit it, he hadn't decided what path to take after university yet, and it was something that caused him constant worry. Someone should really know what they wanted to go to university _for_ before they went, he thought, but, unfortunately, it just hadn't come to him yet.

He left the question open-ended; instead taking another drag of his cigarette, and Usami didn't press. Misaki came over to them, the apples sliced into rabbits, and they each took one, biting into the crisp freshness.

"Does Takahashi-kun call you Usagi-san because you like apples cut into rabbits, Usami-sensei?" Mikari couldn't keep himself from teasingly asking.

Usami frowned, and Misaki looked oddly nervous.

"It's a nickname," the author replied simply, declining to share more.

"Say, Aikawa-kun, would you like some tea?" Misaki asked, hoping to lessen the stiff air between the other two men.

Instead of responding, Mikari looked directly into Usami's eyes and said, "Takahashi, won't you call me Mikari? I wouldn't want to be confused with my cousin." He watched Usami as he said it, wondering what sort of reaction he would see. He had a hypothesis to test, and besides, he considered Misaki a friend, so it was only appropriate he ask to be called by his first name.

As he had expected, the author gave him a dark look. Misaki, unaware, brightly replied, "Of course! You can call me Misaki, too."

"Certainly, _Misaki_ ," said Mikari, stressing the man's name to irk Usami. He didn't know why he wanted to play with the older man's emotions, but it certainly was fun to see him burn quietly, angry but wanting to conceal it from the roommate who had demanded he play nice.

Misaki brought him his tea, then suddenly rushed up the stairs, saying he had been planning to loan Mikari a special-issue volume of The Kan the boy had never read. Mikari took the chance to speak to Usami alone, sensing there was something he needed to clarify.

"Listen, Usami-sensei, don't get the wrong idea, okay? I'm not planning to make a move on your Misaki, so I'm not the threat you seem to think I am."

Usami looked surprised at his words, his purple eyes widening. " _My_ Misaki?" he inquired, feigning ignorance.

Mikari scoffed. "There's no need to pretend you don't understand me, Usami-sensei," he continued. "There's only one reason a man living alone with another man would feel jealous because of a male guest, and I think we both know what it is. I'm gay too, after all. But Misaki's not my type, so don't get all worked up thinking I'll try to take him from you." He looked the older man up and down, noting the power hidden in his body. "I'm not strong enough to fight you, and I'm definitely not stupid enough to try."

Usami smirked, noting the acknowledgement of the fact he could easily overpower the university freshman sitting opposite him.

"Fine then," he said, "I'll admit my relationship with Misaki, it's not something I'm ashamed of. And if you should ever change your tune and decide to pursue him, know that I will make sure you wish you'd never left Canada."

Mikari nodded, glad they had come to an understanding.

By the time Misaki returned from upstairs, bearing a few more volumes than he'd ascended for, the tension in the atmosphere around Mikari and Usami had almost completely dissipated. Instead, the two were comparing their unique lighters, exchanging stories of where they had gotten them. Mikari's was carved into the shape of a salmon–he'd bought it at a mock trading post back in Vancouver. It was something his father might like, Usami commented, thinking of Fuyuhiko's strange obsession with bear-and-fish woodcarvings. Misaki looked from his lover to his new friend, wondering what had happened in his absence to dispel the animosity he'd been sensing before. He shrugged, deciding it didn't matter as long as they were being civil to each other, and went about to prepare their dinner.

Over dinner (stir fry, with green peppers _liberally_ added), the three discussed writing and living in Japan, and Mikari told them about his life in Canada. At first it had been strange, he told them, to see so many different, non-Japanese people, but now Japan's homogeneity almost seemed bland to him. Still, he added, he knew things were never as simple as they looked on the outside, and he was looking forward to thoroughly exploring Tokyo's nooks and crannies now that he was living there. Usami gave him some ideas of used bookstores he could visit after Mikari noted he was looking to get some new books, and Misaki told him about some specialty grocery stores he might like to visit.

Finally, it was time to return home, and Mikari left, assuring his green-eyed friend that he would be able to get home safely. It had certainly been interesting meeting Misaki's rabbit, he thought, and he hoped the two men would continue to be happy together. It certainly seemed like they would.

A/N: For those of you wondering why Ijuuin keeps getting described as vaguely creepy, you'll find out very soon.


	7. Obsessive Tendencies

A/N: I don't own Junjou Romantica, sadly. Thank you for continuing to read and please enjoy chapter seven! And thank you to my lovely guest reviewers for your kind words of encouragement.

Chapter Seven: Obsessive Tendancies

Mikari had just gotten off the subway when he realized he had forgotten to ask Misaki a question while they had been at dinner. Pulling out his phone, he dialed the brunet's number.

Misaki picked up at the first ring.

"Mikari? Did you forget something here?"

"Oh, no," Mikari assured him. "There was just something I wanted to ask you. Um… is there something going on with you and Ijuuin-sensei? You just seem a little uncomfortable around him, and I wanted to know why. I mean, you seem really worried about my association with him, and given I'm spending time with him I feel like I should probably know why."

He heard Misaki sigh deeply on the other end of the line.

"Okay," began his friend hesitantly, "I'm going to tell you something, but you have to promise not to tell anyone, okay? I mean, I can trust you, right?"

Mikari assured him he could, swearing he wouldn't tell a soul.

Misaki sighed again, obviously having to work himself up to the revelation.  
"Alright, you know I live with Usagi-san, right? Well, we're kind of… _together_."

Mikari was in no way surprised, given the conversation he had had with Usami earlier that night, but he feigned shock, since it was clearly the reaction Misaki was expecting.

"Well, about six months ago I was working part-time at Marukawa, before I graduated from university and started working there full-time. One day I went to take Ijuuin-sensei some food from Marukawa and I guess I fanboyed a little too hard and he took it a little too seriously when I said I loved him (I meant I loved his _work_ , of course). Not long after that, he suddenly confessed his love for me. Now, like I said, I'm with Usagi-san, so I turned him down. But he just said my rejection made him like me more. And after that, he wouldn't let it go. He made me his new sub-editor, which was amazing, but it felt weird because I knew he did it just to get close to me. And he was always trying to get me alone, to get me to go out on a date with him or consider him as a "real love interest". He won't listen even though I've told him I'll never like him that way. I guess he's kind of obsessed with me, like a stalker or something."

 _Hm_ , Mikari thought. So that was what "a little _intense_ " had meant. And it wasn't a stretch to him to imagine the Ijuuin he knew getting obsessed with someone he had feelings for. He didn't think that was weird at all; actually, it was something he could see himself doing. It made sense that Aikawa would have given him the same warning–being Usami's editor, she ended up being privy to all of the details of Misaki's life. It even explained why Usami had called Ijuuin obnoxious: he was obviously the jealous type and wouldn't like a persistent suitor hanging around his boyfriend and even going so far as to legitimize an excuse for them to spend time together.

Still, he didn't think it was something he had to worry about. So what if Ijuuin was obsessed with Misaki–it wouldn't affect him. Sure, it would annoy him that the man was in love with someone else, but that was all the better. Maybe it would convince him not to fall in love if he knew from the start that it would never amount to anything. Not that that had stopped him from falling in love the last time, but this would be different. Now that he had some experience, he would be able keep his emotions in check this time, he told himself. He forced his thoughts to carry the confidence that deep down, he knew he didn't feel.

"Mikari?"

He suddenly realized he was still on the phone with Misaki, and struggled to wrench himself out of his introspection.

"Oh, Misaki. Thank you for telling me," he replied, collecting himself. "And don't worry, I'll keep your relationship a secret if that's what you want. And rest assured it won't make me think less of you to know you like men. I do too, after all."

Misaki sounded enormously relieved, and Mikari promised he'd take what his friend had said to heart. He hung up, determined to go through with his promise.

He could keep himself distant from Ijuuin. At least, he hoped he could.


	8. Hot Pot and a Friend

A/N: I don't own Junjou Romantica, Nakamura-sensei does. It may be relevant to note for this chapter that by "Shikibu" I'm referring to _Genji Monogatari_. That said, thank you for continuing to read and I hope you enjoy chapter eight!

Chapter Eight: Hot Pot and a Friend

When Mikari got to Professor Kamijou's class the next morning, Fujikage waved him over to sit next to her as usual.

"How was dinner with the great author?" she asked, grinning at him. He slumped into his seat, took a drink of the coffee he was carrying and made a face at her. How was she so awake in the morning when he had to claw himself out of bed to make an nine o'clock class? He groaned at her and she returned the communique with a face that said, _fine, but you're telling me over lunch_. She might have continued to talk to him in a ploy to jump start his exhausted brain, but she was prevented by the sudden start of class.

"You worms better not be asleep!" came a furious voice from the front of the room and the two of them looked up to see that their professor had arrived, angry as always at his students. The sound of his voice immediately killed Fujikage's enthusiasm, and she set her lips into a sulk, muttering criticism at a volume only Mikari could hear.

"What's his problem?" she griped. "Why can't he just ignore lazy students like all the other professors do? And he's even dissatisfied with the good ones–thinks you're worthless if you don't love literature more than your own life like he does."

Mikari coughed out a laugh, disguising it just enough that Fujikage would hear it for what it was but there would be no chance Kamijou would catch on.

"Better get out your Shikibu," Kamijou was ordering from the front, and the two students obediently complied, pulling out their heavy copies of the brick-like book.

"Why do we have to read this, again?" Mikari hissed at Fujikage.

She mirrored her expression to his irritated face. "It's a classic," she whispered, adding, "you know, a classic instrument of schoolroom torture."

Mikari chuckled again, earning a scowl from Kamijou, but he had his book open in front of him, so the uptight professor couldn't downgrade him for not paying attention. As soon as Kamijou's eyes had moved on, scanning the room for deviants, Mikari turned back to Fujikage with his retort.

"If only it was soft instead of hard," he commented in an undertone, "then I could use it as a pillow."

Fujikage choked on her laugh, and Kamijou's eyes narrowed and returned to the pair.

"Anything you'd like to say?" he asked, voice icier than a Siberian winter.

Mikari shot Fujikage an abashed smile, and she hurriedly came up with a clever comment.

"We were discussing how we thought the story might have been different if it had been written by a man instead of Shikibu-sensei," she said.

Kamijou's eyes narrowed, he clearly doubted the truth of her statement.

"And what did you come up with?"

"Well, Aikawa-kun said it couldn't possibly contain any more love affairs, even if it had been written by a man," Fujikage invented easily. "That was what made me laugh, anyway."

The professor still looked dissatisfied with them, but he couldn't argue with how quickly Fujikage had answered, so he returned to his lecture, keeping an uneasy eye on the two students who dared to find Shikibu anything but unimpeachably serious. Once his glare had moved elsewhere, Mikari said,

"You know, I think that's probably true."

Fujikage gave him a look that hid a smile. "Right?"

The two, being the "good students" Fujikage had mentioned, spent the rest of the lesson paying attention to their professor as he lectured. His passion for his subject, even if they might joke about it, was what made his class worth the taking. After, Mikari had a sociology course while Fujikage had biology, so they split up, meeting again later in the cafeteria, just as they did every day. Their meeting spot was the menu board, and Mikari ordered the shio ramen, continuing on his mission to order every dish the cafeteria boasted. Fujikage, after spending a long time gazing at the menu, the look in her eyes making it clear she was looking without seeing, ordered the same, remarking she should be able to trust the choice of a self-proclaimed expert cook.

They sat down at a window table and Fujikage immediately began questioning on what she viewed as the topic of the day.

"So?" she said simply, unpausing the conversation that Mikari had used lack of sleep as an excuse to pause in the classroom that morning. Mikari, however, had not kept his upcoming examination in mind, and so, noodles hanging out of his mouth, gave his friend a confused, "huh?", then slurped the noodles carefully into his mouth.

"Usami-sensei?" she repeated, mildly exasperated.

"Oh," replied Mikari, setting down his chopsticks. "Right, so he was pretty much as grumpy as I expected."

Fujikage raised an eyebrow, not about to let him get away with saying so little.

"His lighter has a teddy bear engraved on it," he added, picking the most random and trivial detail he had learned about the author the previous night. "Actually, his apartment is full of them: I can't tell if it's creepy or not. I mean, he's got to be thirty-something, and he's famous for being temperamental, so it doesn't exactly fit his image."

"Gap moe," Fujikage said, nodding wisely.

Mikari scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Uh, no. For it to be gap moe it would actually have to be cute."

Fujikage snickered, a wicked expression appearing on her face. "You mean like Kamijou-sensei and Miyagi-sensei?"

He followed her gaze over to the menu board, where the two literature professors were standing together deciding what to buy for lunch. From the looks of things, Kamijou had forgotten his wallet and Miyagi was sweetly offering to pay for him, but instead of taking the gift, the irritable professor was chewing him out for some unknown reason.

"Mm," Mikari commented noncommittally. Sure, the way Miyagi mocked the abrasive Kamijou with his niceness was pretty charming, but the mismatch between their behaviors didn't strike him as cute. Wouldn't you want someone who was nice to you rather than someone who every touch seemed to rub the wrong way? Still, Miyagi seemed to be more joking with the ever-critical professor rather than actually seeking a relationship with him, so Mikari wasn't that bothered by it.

"You know who I think would get along?" he said suddenly, hit by an idea. "Kamijou-sensei and Usami-sensei."

Fujikage made a thoughtful noise. "It does make sense," she replied. "They're both really into literature, and Usami-sensei does have a reputation for being a little… difficult, so I could see it."

Neither, of course, had any idea that the two men had been childhood friends.

As Mikari told Fujikage more about the previous night's meal, she continued nodding pensively and making her usual witty comments. Then she suddenly sat up straight, and Mikari could almost see a light bulb illuminate spontaneously over her head.

"Right, you promised to make dinner for me!" she exclaimed. "Can I come over tonight?"

He gave her a disapproving look. "You know the standard operating procedure is to give a little more notice, don't you?"

"Come on," she cajoled, a persuasive expression on her face. "I'll come grocery shopping with you. I'll even buy the food." He continued to look recalcitrant, so she added, "It can be something simple–you don't need to pull out all the stops for me like your precious mangaka."

Mikari made a face when she said "precious mangaka", but her words convinced him, and he relented. Satisfied, she made him promise to meet her out by a certain cherry tree near the school's main gate when his classes were over for the day.

A few hours later he stood under the promised tree, absently reading a paper on Sino-Japanese relations that had been assigned by his international relations professor, an impossibly knowledgeable Korean woman descended from North Korean refugees.

"Hey!" called Fujikage, skipping up to him, and they headed off in the direction of the shopping district. Eventually, they gathered the ingredients for hot pot–Fujikage choosing it based on the communal nature of its preparation–and the two friends headed back to Aikawa's apartment.

"Wow, your cousin sure has a lot of books," said Fujikage as soon as she stepped into the apartment's main room. "I mean, it makes sense since she's an editor, but still." She smiled, striding over to the crammed shelves and looking appreciatively at the volumes that lined them. "Must be pretty great." Peering at the shelves with a bookworm's jealousy, she pulled a book out carefully.

"Aren't you supposed to be helping me?" Mikari asked when he saw her open the book and start reading right where she was standing. She shut the book and gave him a guilty look, replacing it on the shelf and coming over to help him wash and slice the vegetables.

"You'll have to let me come over some time when you're cousin's not busy," she said, pouring broth into the induction cooker pot. "It would be so cool to meet her."

Mikari promised he would, warning her Eri's job made her a workaholic, and they sat down at the table to make the hot pot together. They spent the rest of the night chatting casually, and Mikari was glad he'd given in to her demand to come over; her presence was much more relaxing than his other dining partners.


	9. The Emerald Twin

A/N: I don't own Junjou Romantica. Or Sekai-ichi Hatsukoi, although characters from that story do appear in this chapter. Thanks for continuing to read and I hope you enjoy chapter nine.

Chapter Nine: The Emerald Twin

When Mikari woke up the next day, he groaned, his eyes still heavy from sleep. He wasn't naturally a morning person, and Fujikage's coming over to dinner the night before hadn't helped. They'd stayed up late talking about school, their classes, and the two famous authors Mikari had had the lucky chance to dine with, and now, as his head ached, he was regretting his long night.

He rolled over to check his phone, and was about to turn and fall back asleep when he noticed a call from Aikawa. She had told him she would be out working all weekend, so he guessed it must be important and ruefully got up.

About an hour later he was standing outside of the subway station nearest Marukawa Publishing, wondering what he was doing here on a Saturday. His cousin's message had been garbled, only referencing food, and he guessed she was begging his help after a few all-nighters and their associated lack of nutrition. He'd quickly whipped up a balanced meal and rode the train to Marukawa, musing briefly that he seemed to visit the building with a strangely high frequency considering he wasn't actually an employee.

Aikawa wasn't at her desk, and the few people he asked in the area seemed to think she had gone out, not specifying when she would return. Mikari was about to give up and go home when he suddenly saw familiar brown hair at the head of a familiarly slim form, and he called out to his friend, hurrying over.

"Misaki!" he cried, but when the man turned around he realized that it was not him but his twin, the man he had seen in Marukawa's lobby the day of his arrival in Japan.

"Huh? Were you looking for Takahashi-kun?" the man asked, and Mikari realized his green eyes looked much more exhausted that Misaki's ever had.

"Ah, sorry," he apologized. "I mistook you for him. I'm Aikawa Mikari, a friend of his."

"Onodera Ritsu," the man replied, introducing himself through force of habit. "Nice to meet you." Ritsu looked Mikari up and down, his face growing thoughtful as he remembered their first encounter.

"Weren't you looking for Aikawa-san before?" he asked.

Mikari nodded. "Yes," he admitted, "I'm her cousin. Actually, I came here today to bring her the lunch I made," he lifted the bento he bore as proof, "but she doesn't seem to be around."

"Oh, she didn't tell you? She was on the phone with Iasu-sensei all day yesterday, and finally she threw her phone down angrily and announced she was going to Nagoya to give her a piece of her mind," Ritsu told him. He eyed the bento, then hesitantly asked, "Since she isn't here, what were you planning to do with that?"

"This?" Mikari asked. He hadn't considered it. "I don't know, why?"

"Do you think I could have it?" Ritsu requested tentatively.

Mikari was about to respond that he saw no reason why not when a sharp voice sliced through the air between them.

"Oi, Onodera!"

Ritsu's face etched itself into a permanent-looking scowl, and he turned around.

"Takano," he replied, gritting his teeth.

Mikari looked over his shoulder, and there, before him, stood a man almost as tall as Usami. He had dark hair and glasses, was dressed entirely in somber black, and had bags beneath his eyes that made Ritsu look like an enthusiastic child.

"Do you think you can slack off?" Takano criticized, and Ritsu's frown deepened.

"Takano, this is Aikawa Mikari, Aikawa-san's cousin. He came here today to bring her a homemade lunch, but since she wasn't here, he said he'd give it to me." Ritsu shot a hopeful look over his shoulder, and Mikari nodded, confirming his statement.

Takano's eyes narrowed. "A homemade lunch, huh?" He smirked. "You'll share it with me, won't you, Onodera?"

Mikari scoffed. It seemed none of the editors had proper diets. Takano, hearing it, scowled at him, and Mikari raised one eyebrow, daring him to speak. Instead, the tall man ground his teeth and scowled even more deeply, and Mikari vaguely thought that here was another man his angry professor would get along well with.

"I guess it's good I brought enough for two," he commented, handing Ritsu the bento. "I figured Eri would be hungry enough, since you editors don't seem to be able to eat in a healthy and consistent manner."

Both Ritsu and Takano looked offended, but bit back the resistant responses on the tips of their tongues when they realized the accuracy of what he'd said.

"If the authors would just get their work in on time, we wouldn't have to live like this," Ritsu replied mournfully.

Mikari sensed he might regret saddling himself with more work, but, as always, couldn't turn down a chance to offer his culinary services.

"If you're willing to recompense my ingredient costs, I'd be willing to make lunches for you some time in the future," he offered.

Ritsu and Takano's eyes shone with hungry desperation, and even Takano admitted he would be very grateful for such a service.

"Aikawa-kun!" someone called out behind him, and he turned to see Ijuuin striding down the hallway towards him, a handsome man with wavy brown hair in tow. For a moment, Mikari was surprised to see the mangaka, but he quickly chided himself for his surprise. Ijuuin was one of Marukawa's most popular artists, it made sense he would be there.

"Ijuuin-sensei!" he greeted in reply.

Ijuuin smiled broadly at him, and Mikari's heartbeat sped up into a smitten tachycardia. Then the wavy-haired brunet behind Ijuuin caught up, and Ijuuin turned to make introductions.

"Aikawa-kun, this is Kirishima Zen, my editor-in-chief and the editor-in-chief of Japun magazine."

Kirishima smirked and looked Mikari up and down.

"Ah, so this is the boy who came all the way from Canada for you," he said languorously. "Nice to meet you, Aikawa-kun."

Mikari scowled, but stifled a bitter comeback to say, "Nice to meet you too, Kirishima-san. I'm Aikawa Mikari." Irritated, he couldn't stop himself from add, "Despite what Ijuuin-sensei might have told you, I came here for the normal reason of attending university."

Kirishima and Ijuuin smiled deviously at his remark. "Sure, sure," Kirishima replied, clearly he didn't much care whether Ijuuin or Mikari's version of events were true.

The editor-in-chief turned to Ijuuin and excused himself, saying, "I've got some business to attend to with Sales." For a reason Mikari couldn't fathom, the comment incited smirks on the faces of all present, and Kirishima departed to sales, while Ritsu and Takano took Mikari's bento and left to have an impromptu office picnic. Suddenly, Mikari and Ijuuin were alone in the hallway.

"What brings you to Marukawa today, Aikawa-kun?" Ijuuin asked, seemingly feeling none of the jangled nerves Mikari felt being alone with him.

"I was bringing lunch to Eri," he replied, struggling to keep his voice level and casual.

"Ah, your cousin? She left last night for Nagoya, but I expect you've already discovered that," Ijuuin easily told him. He smiled languidly at Mikari, his deep blue eyes almost closed. "So how have you been since Wednesday? I heard Takahashi-kun had you over to dinner last night."

Mikari forced himself to think about his Thursday night dinner to distract himself from gazing vapidly into the mangaka's endless oceanic eyes. Thursday. Right, that had been dinner with Misaki and Usami-sensei.

"Yes, he invited me over to his and Usami-sensei's apartment," he remembered, willing himself to focus on the words of the conversation instead of thinking about how handsome Ijuuin looked.

"And what did you think of that grumpy old man?" inquired Ijuuin, raising one of his elegant brown eyebrows.

Mikari chuckled dryly at the characterization, assuming a borrowed bravery taken from the casual mood in which Ijuuin approached their discussion. "Ah, he's not as bad as all that," he replied, smirking. "Although he did threaten to end me if I ever made a move on Misaki."

Ijuuin laughed to himself, "He is the insanely jealous type. I'm guessing from your tone you promised not to because you're not interested in pursuing Takahashi-kun anyway, right?"

Mikari scoffed, his eyelids narrowing his eyes slowly. "As if I would. I'm not interested in dating an uke."

Ijuuin made an intrigued face. Mikari had given him an excellent opening–here was a chance to get the answer to the Wednesday evening inquiry the boy had seemed not to notice.

"And a seme?" he questioned slowly.

Mikari grinned suggestively. "Now that's more my speed."

It is impossible to know where their conversation might have continued from there, for it was at that very moment that Kirishima returned from his office tryst with Yokozawa.

"Kyo!" he called out. "You're still here?" Then he noticed Mikari standing beside the mangaka, and his eyebrows rose as he processed the boy as an object deserving of interest rather than a random passerby. "Aikawa-kun, you too," he said, his curiosity engaged.

"Kirishima-san, did I mention Aikawa made me dinner the other night?" Ijuuin told his editor-in-chief. "He's quite the accomplished chef."

"Is he?" Kirishima replied, his interest only growing. How fascinating that Ijuuin should invite someone who was practically a stranger into his home alone to cook dinner for him. He might be gregarious, but such behavior was beyond the bounds of what Kirishima would imagine of him, sociable or not. Certainly, the fact that the boy had come into Ijuuin's life through the agency of Takahashi Misaki, who Kirishima was well aware Ijuuin was unnaturally attached to, might have motivated the mangaka to place an unusual amount of trust in him, but it was still strange. He resolved to keep an eye on any new developments. Simultaneously, he snuck a glance at Mikari, who looked a little on edge at mention of his talents. Perhaps he could sense Kirishima was suspicious of his motives when it came to Ijuuin.

"Well, Aikawa-kun, I'm afraid it's back to work for me, but rest assured I'm looking forward to our next dinner together," Ijuuin said, missing Kirishima's thoughtful glance at Mikari and the sudden interest in the young man that sprung up with it. He smiled and bid Mikari goodbye, then departed, following Kirishima back down the hallway.

As soon as the mangaka had gone, the confidence Mikari had been stealing from him rushed away and his anxious nerves and rapid heartbeat returned. What was it about the mangaka that made him feel like he was apt to stutter and blush at the slightest provocation? Thank the gods he'd been able to keep himself relatively calm during their conversation; he was amazed he'd been able to say the things he'd said with a straight face. And what was that they had been talking about before Kirishima had turned up? He thought with some dread about their upcoming dinner. He'd have to face Ijuuin again after what he'd said, have to own up to his boldness. He would only have to hope Ijuuin didn't question him further on that point, or he would be certain to get himself in trouble.


	10. An Endless Supply of Bamboo Skewers

A/N: I don't own JJR. Thanks for continuing to read and I hope you enjoy reading chapter ten as much as I enjoyed writing it! Also, a big thank you to Dakota who corrected the Korean.

Chapter Ten: An Endless Supply of Bamboo Skewers

Aikawa didn't return from Nagoya until late Sunday night, and when she did it was only to collapse directly onto her bed, stopping neither to bathe nor eat. Once again, Mikari wondered that anyone would voluntarily continue to be an editor–he certainly couldn't have maintained that lifestyle. It was hard for him to function with the relatively typically but ultimately inadequate university student levels of sleep he currently got and his cousin didn't get even a fraction of the hours he enjoyed. When he returned home from university on Monday night; however, she had returned to her usual tired but cheerful demeanor, smilingly complimenting Mikari on the takoyaki he made for her. He asked her how she'd enjoyed her trip to Nagoya and she made a face, saying she'd threatened Iasu-sensei within an inch of the normally deadline-obedient author's life and that while she hoped to visit Nagoya again sometime as a tourist, she aspired to never have to go back on an editorial mission.

Over the next few days, Mikari went through his usual procedure of test cooking the dishes he had in mind for his dinner with Ijuuin, making sure he was guaranteed to make the best possible versions of his culinary choices. This time, Aikawa noticed something was up, as he was planning a yakitori night and seemed to skewer their every meal.

"What's with the endless supply of bamboo skewers?" she asked on Tuesday night, judging his behavior had moved into the domain where it was appropriate to question it.

"I just caught a yakitori bug," he replied evasively, suspecting she might disapprove of his going to cook dinner for Ijuuin again in such a short time. His cousin gave him a suspicious look, but didn't question him further, only remarking he was as excellent in the preparation of yakitori as with everything else he'd cooked for her so far. Seeking to change the subject, he described to her what had happened when he'd gone in to Marukawa on Saturday with a bento for her, only omitting his solitary conversation with Ijuuin, and she was intrigued to hear of his offer to make lunch for the two Emerald authors.

"You're turning into a regular caterer, aren't you?" she remarked, noting with interest that he'd soon end up cooking for everyone at Marukawa if he wasn't careful. To that, he replied he wouldn't mind so much as long as it didn't turn out to be as much work as being an editor seemed to be. He liked cooking, after all, and it worried him that so many of the employees of Marukawa couldn't seem to eat correctly, either neglecting their meals or eating only quick convenience-store bentos.

More quickly than seemed normal it was Wednesday, and Mikari had to prepare himself to return to the mangaka's apartment. Fujikage, seeing how nervous he was that day at lunch, held off from her usual snide remarks, assuring him everything was going to be fine.

"If our Friday dinner was any indication, you've certainly got the requisite cooking chops," she commented. "Try to focus on the food, and don't let yourself get too distracted by the company."

He thanked her for her advice, but it had already come little too late. He couldn't stop thinking about Ijuuin; especially their Saturday conversation. He hoped fervently that the mangaka wouldn't bring the subject up again, but he was a sly man, and Mikari couldn't imagine a situation in which the author would let his daring go completely unremarked.

Too rapidly, the day was over, and Mikari found his feet unconsciously directing him back towards Ijuuin's apartment complex. The dark blue-eyed mangaka had sent him a text that afternoon reminding him of the directions and encouragingly adding he was excited to see what appetizing wonders Mikari would come up with this time.

"Welcome back," the mangaka greeted him as he opened the door to his apartment. Tonight he was dressed in black pants, a pale blue shirt and and white vest, clothing choices that, through no deliberate action on behalf of either party, accidently made him match Mikari, who wore the same, except with a white scarf instead of a vest. Ijuuin looked the younger man up and down lazily, inspecting their unplanned matching outfits. Mikari, who didn't realize that his attire mirrored that of the mangaka, only felt anxious under his gaze, wondering why the author was looking at him with such interest.

"I thought I'd make yakitori," he offered uncertainly.

"Sounds delicious," Ijuuin replied, stepping aside to allow him further into the apartment. After Mikari had set his ingredients on the counter and was robing himself in his apron, he realized that his color scheme matched that of his host, and he blushed, embarrassed.

"What is it, the apron?" Ijuuin asked, misunderstanding the reason behind his guest's reddened face. "Don't worry about it, didn't I tell you it was charming?"

"It's not that," Mikari responded, turning his back to the mangaka with the excuse he needed to wash the vegetables. Ijuuin could still see the red tips of his ears, though, so his attempt to hide his flushed face was ultimately pointless. "I just noticed that our clothes match."

Ijuuin chuckled. "What an interesting coincidence."

"Sure," Mikari muttered doubtfully under his breath, chopping the vegetables.

Once the vegetables, meat, and fruit had been chopped and set to the side, he took the octopus and takoyaki batter ingredients out of the bag.

"Tonight's appetizer will be takoyaki," he announced, sifting some flour into a bowl. Ijuuin, who had been sitting on the couch watching him, rose from his seat at this announcement and joined him in the kitchen.

"Oh, can I help?" he remarked, leaning on the counter behind Mikari. The university freshman wished there was a polite way to tell his host that the man's close presence made him uncomfortable and therefore increased the risk he would make a mistake in his preparations, but he couldn't think of a way of saying it that wasn't rude, so he accepted Ijuuin's help. After washing his hands, the mangaka strode over to a drawer and pulled out an apron, tying it around his waist. Curious what kind of apron Ijuuin might have, Mikari shot him a glance and was rewarded with the image of the mangaka dressed in an apron themed after his own creation. He chuckled despite himself and Ijuuin turned to see the amused expression he wore.

"Free merchandise?" Mikari inquired, grinning. Ijuuin nodded, abashed, it was another mark of being well-prepared for cooking despite lacking the skill, all due to people's expectations. The author whisked the eggs at Mikari's direction, then poured them into the batter. Taking the embarrassingly unused takoyaki pan down from a high cabinet, he turned it on and a few moments later Mikari was gently spooning the batter into the pan's dips. While the takoyaki cooked, Ijuuin fetched a grill (slightly more used than the takoyaki pan) from another cabinet and he and Mikari began grilling the meat and vegetable skewers from the chopped ingredients the boy had prepared before.

Falling into the comfortable regularity of cooking, Mikari was like a doctor performing surgery, his eyes focused on the grill, sticking his hand out now and again to receive new skewers. Consumed as he was, he didn't realize he was cooking with the mangaka and not previous culinary assistance.

"Da-eum-e ju-se-yo, Jun-sae-hyung!" he called absently, distractedly mistaking Ijuuin for his South Korean ex-boyfriend, who he had cooked with many times before leaving Canada. Ijuuin, however, did not speak Korean, being, as he was, not Korean, and so, instead of obeying the command to hand him the next skewer, stopped and shot Mikari a confused look. Mikari's empty hand hovered in mid-air, and after a few minutes he turned to Ijuuin impatiently.

As soon as he saw the mangaka, instead of the scrawny and constantly smoking South Korean he had expected, he realized his mistake.

"What?" Ijuuin asked, still confused by his outburst in a foreign language.

"Oh," Mikari replied, chagrined by how easily he had transported himself to a different place, joined by a different person. "I meant, pass me that next skewer, please."

Ijuuin handed him the skewer in question, but wasn't about to let him get away without explaining his remark.

"What was that?" he pressed.

Casting him an inattentive look, Mikari explained, "Sorry, I guess I got mentally drawn back into the past and thought you were Jun-sae."

Accepting a skewer of grilled vegetables from his guest, Ijuuin gave the boy a look that demanded he expand his explanation.

Mikari sighed, but obediently continued, still mentally focused on his kitchen duties. "He was your predecessor, I guess. My ex-boyfriend back in Canada. He was South Korean; that was the language I was speaking. I picked up a little from him while we were together."

Ijuuin raised his eyebrows, intrigued. He was certainly interested to hear of Mikari's past, but was drew more of his attention was the way the boy had referred to this ex-boyfriend as his "predecessor". If this Jun-sae was his "predecessor", what did that make him? He decided to use his secret weapon to find out.

So, when the takoyaki and yakitori were finished and pierced through with bamboo skewers, he opened the cabinet above the refrigerator and drew out a bottle of plum wine.  
"This should go nicely with our yakitori," he commented as Mikari carried the plates of yakitori to the table.

"Okay," Mikari responded. He wasn't sure what the drinking age in Japan was, but he assumed it was nineteen, as in Canada, making him legal. He accepted a glass and took a sip. "This is pretty good."

However, as everyone knows, nerves and alcohol don't mix well, and with the distraction of cooking removed, Mikari's nerves returned, and he began to drink the wine at a pace faster than was advisable.

"You sure know how to make a lot of different food," Ijuuin commented, using the remark to open the discussion on his real interest. "I suppose you must have cooked pretty frequently with Jun-sae, huh?"

Mikari chewed steadily at his beef skewer, washing it down with another drink of the plum wine.

"I guess," he replied. "He was a pretty skinny guy, and I find it really hard to resist feeding a guy like that."

"How did you meet?"

Mikari smiled at the memory and explained, "At my parents' suggestion I was taking an advanced class at one of the universities in town and Jun-sae was in the class. He invited me out for coffee originally because we were both East Asian-born but living in Canada, we became friends, and eventually I fell in love with him." He sighed, and added. "I'm pretty sure he was bisexual and not gay, though. He was the kind of guy that would go out with a guy but ultimately end up marrying and having children with a woman. I mean, it was okay, because he was honest about the fact that we wouldn't be together in the long run, but it kind of stung to know I was just a distraction for him."

"Hmm," Ijuuin responded, munching on a skewer of takoyaki. "What was he like?"

Mikari took a fruit skewer, his eyes lighting up nostalgically. "Well, I know I'm biased, but I really liked him. He was the first guy I went out with, I mean, there were guys I had crushes on in middle school and so on, but I guess they were either straight or just not interested in me, because no one ever asked me out." He thought back. "I guess a few girls tried to, but I admit I never paid much attention to them. Maybe that was rude, but I think it would have be worse to lead them on when I never had any intention of going out with them." Wetting his throat, he continued with the answer to the question he'd been originally asked. "He was pretty straightlaced in front of other people, but once he got comfortable with me he'd let down his guard. He smoked almost constantly, and it gave him this amazingly irresistible voice when he sang karaoke." He sighed with pleasure at the memory of their late nights; Jun-sae, who secretly loved to sing, would sing him everything from K-Pop to traditional folk songs his now-deceased mother had sung to him as a child. "And he always treated me with consideration, asking my opinion and whether I was okay with this or that. There are too many people out there nowadays that assume you'll just go along with them, but he wasn't like that."

Ijuuin sighed. It seemed Mikari had a love-clouded view of his ex-boyfriend, setting a high bar for any successors. The beautiful haze of first love could be a challenge to replace.

"So why'd you break up?"

Mikari scowled, although, courtesy of the alcohol, it turned his face more into a pout than a frown. "Why do you think?" he replied, his voice bitter. "He graduated and moved back to South Korea. Off to meet his future wife, I expect."

 _Ah_ , thought Ijuuin, _so his picture-perfect ideal boyfriend broke his heart_. Here, he sensed, was the opportunity to ask the question he'd started the conversation for.

"Say, Aikawa-kun," he began, carefully arranging his voice to sound disinterested instead of deliberate, "what did you mean when you called him my "predecessor"?"

"Huh?" asked Mikari, his cheeks beginning to flush red under the influence of the alcohol.

"Before, when you accidentally mistook me for him, you said _he was your predecessor, I guess_ ," Ijuuin reminded him. "What did you mean by that?"

Mikari scoffed at what his wine-fogged mind imagined was the author's foolishness.

"I meant he was the guy I liked before you," he replied, a phrase Ijuuin was certain he would regret when he thought back to tonight tomorrow morning.

Ijuuin smiled genially at the boy. "Of course," he said, "how silly of me not to understand."

Mikari smirked, not realizing the mangaka was humoring him.

"I bet he liked everything you made him," Ijuuin complimented, flattering the younger man. "I certainly do."

Mikari blushed, and Ijuuin remarked once again to himself that the boy was cute when embarrassed.

"You'd better get going home before you get drunk," he advised Mikari. "But we'll do this again next week, right?"

Mikari nodded, and with movements of someone struggling to wake up after a long sleep, went to put on his coat.

"Text me tomorrow morning to let me know you made it home alright," Ijuuin told him, and with that, Mikari disappeared out the door into the black night.

When he was gone, the author sat a long time thinking about what he'd learned before packing away all of the leftovers and washing the dishes. First, that alcohol worked well as a truth serum for Mikari. More importantly, however, was what he'd learned about the state of the boy's heart. So, while recovering from his first heartbreak, he had fallen for the mangaka, had he? Ijuuin was interested to see how it would turn out. He still had feelings for Misaki, but was painfully aware nothing was likely to come of them, given the brunet's unending devotion to his rabid rabbit of a boyfriend. Would his unrequited love for Misaki continue, or would the heartbroken young man who had come all the way from Canada for him (he couldn't resist continuing the misapprehension, even if he knew it wasn't true) win him over? He would have to wait and see.


	11. A Hangover

A/N: So yeah, I don't own Junjou Romantica. Thanks for continuing to read and I hope you enjoy chapter eleven.

Chapter Eleven: A Hangover

When Mikari woke up the next morning, his head ached, the sunlight streaming in the window unbearable to look at. He groaned in pain and rolled over, realizing he had a hangover. He shouldn't have been drinking on a weekday when he had school the next morning. The only relief was that it was a Thursday, so he wouldn't have class with Kamijou-sensei. He was sure the easily enraged professor would aggravate his headache beyond belief. The classes of his Tuesday/Thursday schedule started later than those on the other days, but he would still need to force himself out of bed long before he wanted to get up.

As he clawed himself out of bed and washed his face in cold water in a bid to wake himself up, he remembered he had promised to text Ijuuin that morning to assure the author he'd managed to get home safely. Pulling on a shirt and pants, he took out his phone and shot off a quick text.

Unfortunately, sending the text made him start to think about what had happened the night before. He hadn't drank enough to forget, and, as he stood in the kitchen making coffee and absently munching on an apple, his words the previous evening came back to him. He'd told the author all about Jun-sae, his ex-boyfriend, and…

Dread struck him like a lightning bolt, and he set the cup of coffee he had just taken the first sip of down on the countertop with a loud clack.

 _He was your predecessor, I guess_ , he recalled himself saying, his horror at his oversharing bringing his words back with a clarity as harsh to him as the rays of the sun were to his hungover brain. What had possessed him to so easily reveal something he had never meant to let Ijuuin know? And worse still, when pressed to explain his words he had complied, saying, _I meant he was the guy I liked before you_. He buried his head in his hands and groaned. If he thought he would be screwed after all but admitting to Ijuuin he was in the market for a seme that day at Marukawa, this was much worse. Now not only did Ijuuin know beyond a doubt that he was looking for a seme, but he knew Mikari was interested in seeing the mangaka take on that role. There was no telling what Ijuuin must think of him now, he thought, immensely regretful of his disclosure. Probably he imagined that Mikari was trying to force his way into his life by cooking dinner for him every week. Sure, it was the author himself who had invited Mikari over, but he would most likely think twice about doing so in the future.

Suddenly checking the time, Mikari realized he had better get going if he was going to make his first class. Draining the rest of his coffee, he discarded the cup in the sink and hurried down to the subway. For the rest of the morning, his classes succeeded in distracting him, but when he went to lunch, Fujikage was waiting for him by the menu board as usual, and was full of curiosity about the previous night's dinner.

"So, Aikawa-kun, how was your second date with your precious mangaka?" she teased once they had sat down with their meals. As his thoughts from that morning came rushing back, he repeated his gesture from earlier, burying his head in his hands and groaning.

"Oh, boy," his friend said, interested in what could have made Mikari react as he did. "What happened?"

Keeping his face covered in his hands, Mikari mumbled his answer so only she could hear. "I idiotically told him I liked him."

Fujikage burst into laughter, and Mikari parted the fingers covering his face to give her a demonic glare, willing her to shut up. It took long enough, but she finally did, pausing to ask, "And how did that happen?"

"Because I am a moron who can't hold his liquor," Mikari grudgingly admitted. In response, Fujikage stifled another laugh and ate another one of her pork gyoza.

"We were making yakitori and I accidently asked him to pass me another skewer in Korean," he explained. "So of course he wanted to know how I knew Korean, and I started telling him about my ex-boyfriend Jun-Sae. By that time I had already drank a few glasses, and I guess in telling him about my ex-boyfriend I for whatever stupid inebriated reason let it slip I was hoping he'd be my new one."

She forced herself to hold back a chuckle and said, "Do you not know the drinking age in Japan is twenty? I mean, I'm not faulting you for drinking underage, everyone does it, but still."

Mikari growled and sat up, uncovering his face.

"That devious rascal," he accused, gritting his teeth, "he totally took advantage of the fact that I thought the drinking age here was nineteen like in Canada."

"True," Fujikage agreed, "but shouldn't you have known? You've been here two weeks, and besides, your parents are Japanese. Anyway, whether you were drinking legally or not, you should still be careful if you've got secrets you'd rather not reveal."

Mikari didn't like it, but she had a point. Ijuuin did bear the larger part of the blame for giving him the wine, but he was at fault too. He knew better than to drink too much, knew that he should have been extra careful around Ijuuin, considering his feelings for the mangaka. Ultimately, it was his fault he'd revealed his crush–Ijuuin had only given him the wine to be considerate and make his guest more comfortable. Mikari was responsible for what he'd said.

"How did he react?" she asked, curious.

Mikari wasn't sure how to reply. "He didn't, I suppose," he answered, pensively contemplating the mangaka's strangely muted reaction for the first time. "It was pretty late, so he just said I should be careful getting home and text him to let him know I hadn't passed out in a ditch somewhere." He narrowed his eyes, casting his mind back into the past. He made a thoughtful noise, remembering something interesting, "he did tell me I should come again next week, though."

Fujikage smiled, taking a drink of her tea.

"Well, that's good, isn't it?"

Mikari wasn't sure. It did seem to mean that the mangaka hadn't been repulsed or scared off by his unexpected confession, as he had worried that morning, but it didn't seem to be much of a reaction one way or the other. He had trouble reading Ijuuin; he seemed to find people either completely transparent or frustratingly opaque, and Ijuuin clearly fell into the later category.

His friend, seeing his uncertainty, commented,

"Seems you'll have to wait until next week to find out."

He nodded. Unless he saw Ijuuin again sooner (and perhaps even if he did), a more easily interpretable reaction from the mangaka would have to wait.


	12. You Like Him, Don't You?

A/N: Don't own JJR. Thank you for continuing to read and I hope you like chapter twelve.

Chapter Twelve: You Like Him, Don't You?

Ijuuin was only planning on dropping by Marukawa for a short time that Friday, to pester Misaki and check in with Kirishima on the sales of the latest The Kan, but it didn't happen that way. His stop at Misaki's desk was as brief as it was meant to be, with him grinning cheekily at the editor and the brunet annoyedly informing him he was working on another author's work today, thank you very much. Perhaps if he'd kept his mouth shut, his drop-by with Kirishima would have gone the same way, but today fate had other plans.

As it happened, when he stopped in on the editor-in-chief, the wavy brown-haired man was eating his lunch, no doubt prepared for him by Yokozawa, who Ijuuin was well aware was functionally living with Kirishima. And it couldn't have been just that, but the lunch contained a few little skewers of meat, and that was what made Ijuuin say what he said.

"Yakitori!" he exclaimed, abruptly forgetting what he had come to ask Kirishima about. "You know, I ate some last night. Aikawa-kun continues to impress–he's really a great cook."

Kirishima paused, chopsticks halfway to his mouth.

"Aikawa-kun… that boy from Saturday, right?" Ijuuin nodded, and Kirishima added, "You had him over again?" Ijuuin nodded again, this time somewhat slower, sensing Kirishima's suspiciousness. Kirishima frowned pensively, but, seeing Ijuuin was watching him, changed his expression into one of more innocent curiosity, although Ijuuin could still see his cunning behind the mask of guilelessness.

"I didn't really get a chance to meet him on Saturday," Kirishima commented airily, "what's he like?"

"What do _I_ think of him, you mean?" Ijuuin said, asking Kirishima's real question for him. He tapped his chin, carefully considering his answer before beginning. "I think he's a good kid," he told the editor-in-chief. "Less naive than Takahashi-kun, but no less charming."

"And he's been over to your place twice in as many weeks," Kirishima mentioned.

"Thrice, actually," Ijuuin corrected him. "It was at my place where Takahashi-kun initially introduced him to me." He suddenly remembered how out of it he had been when Mikari had first seen him, and made a disgusted face. "Ah, I had almost forgotten he saw me in deadline-avoidance mode. It's amazing he was willing to continue an acquaintance with me after seeing that: I try not to let people find out I generate that kind of Armageddon-like atmosphere, since it usually puts them off."

"But not him?" Kirishima interjected mildly.

"No," Ijuuin continued thoughtfully. "I suppose that makes sense, though, given Aikawa-san is his cousin. He's bound to have seen her like that a few times on account of Usami-sensei or one of her other authors. Just last weekend she up and went to Nagoya without saying a thing to him, for example."

"Hmm," said Kirishima, who, it seemed, had decided to participate in the one-sided conversation only in order to keep Ijuuin talking.

Ijuuin smiled to himself, remembering Mikari's impromptu confession the previous night.

"He's an awfully good cook, and besides, he's pretty cute," he said, lost in thought.

Kirishima's eyes widened, and he inspected the mangaka, his expression serious.

"You like him, don't you?"

Ijuuin stopped gazing off into space and broke himself out of his reverie, turning to Kirishima.  
"Hmm?" he asked. "Yes, I suppose, but not in the way you're thinking of."

Kirishima gave him a doubtful look.

"I've only known him a few weeks," the dark-haired mangaka protested.

Kirishima only scoffed at him. "Because historically it's taken you _so_ long to develop feelings for people," he retorted, "like, say, Takahashi-kun."

Ijuuin only sulked in reply. Admittedly, it had taken him a grand total of two meetings to fall hopelessly in love with Misaki, but he almost had himself convinced the green-eyed man was an exception. If only he could discount the boy he'd become obsessed with in high school without even speaking to, he might have been able to complete the illusion. With the women he had dated in the past it had taken him an agonizingly long time to develop feelings if he did at all. Usually, he'd notice them flirting with him and decide, for no particular reason, to flirt back, most of the time not taking their affections seriously. It was only with men that it seemed to be different, and even that was difficult to tell, given how few he'd been attracted to over the years. After his first love had moved away to attend a different high school, he had decided to ignore attractive men and focus on finding a girlfriend, and he had been in and out of relationships with women ever since. They never seemed to last, but he had simply assumed he hadn't met the right woman yet, never even considering that the reason might be that he was more interested in men than in women.

"Thinking of changing your answer?" Kirishima cut in.

Ijuuin scowled again, irritated by the way the editor-in-chief seemed to so easily read him and direct the conversation accordingly.

"Fine," he spat out, "I'm not sure."

What _did_ he think of Mikari? He still wasn't sure how to react to the raven-haired boy's adorable and obviously unprepared confession the previous night; it was why he had sent him away. His excuse had been that it was getting late, and it certainly was a valid one, but, if he was honest with himself, he had needed time to process what the younger man had said. What Mikari had said about not wanting to lead on the girls who had confessed to him in high school had struck a chord with him. He didn't want to lead Mikari on, but neither was he convinced he should formally turn down the boy's confession. And he definitely didn't want to accept his confession half-heartedly and not commit to it, only toying with and ultimately breaking his heart, as, it seemed, the university student's previous boyfriend had. No one should have to go through such a thing twice in a row. He need to think of something to say to Mikari to persuade him to allow him some time to consider. He was fairly certain he wouldn't be able to answer Mikari at their dinner next week either, but if he could at least have that much time, he trusted he could come up with something to say to buy more time. He didn't want to avoid Mikari–he enjoyed the boy's cooking and company, after all, and so he had invited him to continue their dinner series.

Kirishima watched him think, finishing his yakitori, then cut in, suggesting, "If you're not sure if you like him, you should probably work on finding out."

He handed the author a printout with the sales of the latest The Kan, somehow knowing what Ijuuin had come to Marukawa for, and strolled out. Ijuuin was left holding the paper in his hand, Kirishima's last words ringing in his ears.

 _If you're not sure if you like him, you should probably work on finding out_.


	13. The Seaside

A/N: I don't own JJR. Please enjoy chapter thirteen!

Chapter Thirteen: The Seaside

Over dinner on Friday night, Aikawa announced that through some miracle one of her authors had gotten in the redraft of his manuscript a few day early and that she had the weekend off to spend with Mikari.

"Let's go somewhere!" she cheerily suggested, overwhelmed with happiness at her rare free day. "Where do you want to go?"

Mikari thought about it as he chewed his bite of rice. "Can we go to the seaside?"

Aikawa looked confused. "It's not really the season for swimming, but I guess so."

"Oh, no," Mikari explained, "it's not that I want to go swimming, I just like seeing the ocean. It stretches so far, it's relaxing."

Aikawa looked as if she had expected him to want to go sightseeing in Akihabara or Shibuya. The draw of a weekend of relaxation, however, was hard to resist. It was just what she needed.  
"Sure," she told him, "let's go stay at an onsen."

Mikari's eyes lit up. He had been wanting to visit an onsen ever since he decided to return to Japan, and had thought he would have to wait longer before getting the chance. He didn't remember much from when he had lived in Japan as a small child, but he had a vague recollection of staying in an onsen, playing around in a yukata and bathing tranquilly in the hot spring. To him, that memory was the epitome of everything a vacation should be, calm and fun in perfect proportions.

"I know just the one in Chiba Prefecture, down in Tateyama," Aikawa said, already imagining she was there. "I'll give them a call and we can head there tonight. I know it'll be late, but we can sleep in tomorrow."

Not long after, they were on the train to Tateyama, arriving there late at night. Mikari wondered that the onsen would still accept guests at this hour, but it seemed the owner knew Aikawa and her irregular hours. They had a long leisurely bath (alone, all the other customers had gone to bed already), and when Mikari finally made his way to their room he fell asleep the moment he laid down on the futon.

He slept in late the following morning, so when the phone rang he was still deep in the embrace of a dream. In the dream he was home, in Vancouver, and he was at Jun-sae's apartment. He could tell it was his ex-boyfriend's place by the dinginess of the apartment; clothes, books and papers were strewn everywhere. Even more recognizable was the pervasive smell of nicotine that hung heavily in the air. In the dream, Mikari was half-sitting, half-lying on the living room couch, smoking a cigarette, and it was almost burned down to the end. Not wanting to get his fingers scorched, he ground out the cigarette in Jun-sae's ashtray, which, through some skewed dream logic, looked exactly like Usami's panda-shaped ashtray. Standing up, he strolled slowly into the kitchen to get a new cigarette from Jun-sae. As he walked, his bare feet scuffed gently against the cigarette burn-pockmarked floor, and he felt a wave of nostalgia gush over him. It must have been remembering Jun-sae on Wednesday that had made him think about how much he missed his ex-boyfriend, his present-time dream self rationalized. By then, he was standing in the kitchen door, and he saw Jun-sae standing at the sink, washing dishes. There was something comforting about the way the sounds of the rushing water, scraping brush and clinking dishes mixed together, a homely din. He strode up to Jun-sae and stood behind the tall Korean man, reaching around to his front pocket where, he knew, his ex-boyfriend had always kept his pack of cigarettes. He leaned into the warm and comforting expanse of Jun-sae's back as he did so, aware he was dreaming but wishing the dream would go on forever.

That was when the phone started ringing. At first, it was a quiet sound, but it grew louder and louder, and soon Mikari was unable to ignore it.

"Jun-sae-hyung," he muttered directly into the man's back, "answer your phone."

Startled, the dream Jun-sae turned around, and Mikari had just enough time to note with intense shock that he wore Ijuuin's face before the irritating noise of the phone wrenched him out of the dream.

He snatched the phone up from where it lay next to his head, angrily accepting the call.

"What!?" he spat venomously, enraged he had been disturbed from his slumbers.

The caller, disrupted by Mikari's unexpectedly bitter reception, hesitantly asked, "Mikari?"

Mikari's half-asleep brain registered with a start that the voice who had said his name belonged to none other than Ijuuin himself. At the realization, his stomach plummeted with as much terrifying acceleration and abrupt recklessness as a peregrine falcon diving at its top speed one hundred miles an hour.  
"Ijuuin… ?" he questioned delicately, horrified at his own rudeness.  
"Are you alright?" the mangaka asked nervously.

Mikari shook himself inside and out and managed to normalize his flatlining thought processes before he replied. "Yes, sorry. I was just sleeping," he said, his tone ashamedly asking the mangaka to forgive his abysmal lack of courtesy.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Ijuuin said, sounding more like he thought Mikari should forgive _him_. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"No, it's okay," Mikari assured him. "Just a moment." He rolled onto his back and stood up. It seemed Aikawa had already gone to get breakfast: he was alone in their room. He hadn't noticed it when they had come in the night before, being too tired, but it was a nice little room. On the other side of his cousin's futon the sliding door was slightly opened; on the other side he could see a refreshing garden. Fresh, clean air blew lightly in, and Mikari thought to himself that Eri had chosen well–this place really did seem the image of tranquility.

He strode over to the door and sat on the edge of the floor, his feet dangling over the ground.

"What were you calling about?"

"I heard about this new restaurant opening up in Chiba," Ijuuin explained, "I wondered if you, being a connoisseur of fine dining, might like to go."

"Oh," Mikari replied, "actually, I'm in Tateyama for the weekend." For no particular reason he assumed Ijuuin was only asking if he wanted to go _that day_. "One of Eri's authors miraculously finished up before his deadline, so we decided to go on vacation."

"Oh," Ijuuin echoed. He had actually been asking if Mikari wanted to go _at all_ , but he played along with the younger man's supposition. He paused a moment, lost in thought. "Tateyama, is it? Where are you staying?"

Mikari told him the name of the onsen, and Ijuuin added, "how do you like it?"

"Well, we just got here last night, so I haven't had much of a chance to explore, but the bath last night was really nice. We got here so late we had it all to ourselves, there's no describing how amazingly relaxing that is."

Ijuuin agreed. "That sounds excellent. Maybe I'll come and join you, I _am_ always looking for ways to avoid my deadlines."

Mikari, who thought he was joking, laughed, replying, "don't do that to poor Misaki-kun."

He heard Ijuuin's voice catch, and cursed himself for mentioning the object of the author's unrequited affections. But Ijuuin played it off, saying, "oh, he's used to it."

Mikari's stomach suddenly growled loudly enough Ijuuin could hear it over the phone. He hadn't eaten much for dinner last night in the excitement of coming to an onsen, and by now it was nearly noon.

"What was that?" Ijuuin jokingly asked, "Is there a wild animal in the garden?" Mikari chuckled in spite of himself, and Ijuuin added, "I'd better let you go eat breakfast. See you soon!"

Mikari, assuming Ijuuin was referring to their Wednesday dinner, returned the farewell, and the two hung up. Not a moment later, Aikawa opened the door, a bowl of rice steaming faintly in her hand.

"Oh, you're up," she remarked, offering him the bowl, "hungry?"

He turned, and, seeing the rice, rose to his feet and accepted the food. As he ate, Aikawa told him she had gone out for a stroll that morning and asked if he wanted her to show him around. Gratefully, he accepted, and a few minutes later they were leaving the onsen's front door and heading down to the beachfront.

Given the earliness of the season, there weren't many people at the beach, just a few casual boaters and a cluster of people eating a late and leisurely brunch at a seaside cafe. Mikari and Aikawa walked down to the surf and took off their shoes, wading tentatively in the chilly spring water.

"Ah!" exclaimed Aikawa, dancing quickly back out of the water. Mikari, who was used to Canadian weather, was less shocked by the cold water, and staying wading in it.

"This is nothing compared to Vancouver," he boasted, lightly kicking up some water in his cousin's direction. As he intended, the splash missed her, but she still shrieked and dodged in an exaggerated manner.

The two spent the rest of the day wandering around Tateyama, Aikawa showing her cousin all of the sights. They stopped by a shrine to pray for Mikari to do well in school and for Aikawa's authors not to strangle her with the long cords they used to swing out past their deadlines. At mid-afternoon, they stopped lunch at the same restaurant they had passed by that morning, tasting seafood fresh from the ocean that lapped not far from where they sat. Finally, tired for a day of wandering the town, they returned to the onsen for dinner.

When they arrived at their inn, an unexpected visitor was waiting for them.


	14. An Unexpected Visitor

A/N: I don't own Junjou Romantica.

So, you may notice where Mikari quotes his chapter 10 self it's different from what it was before. I got some Korean advice from a lovely guest reviewer Dakota. I've also changed chapter 10 to reflect that, but if you've read it before today you'd have seen the old version. I thought I should mention it in case you were confused why he was misquoting himself.

That's it. Thank you for continuing to read and I hope you enjoy chapter fourteen. If you do, please review to let me know what you liked or what you'd want improved. Thanks!

Chapter Fourteen: An Unexpected Visitor

When Aikawa and Mikari returned to the onsen that night, Mikari was so immersed in the story he was telling his cousin that, at first, he didn't noticed their unexpected visitor standing in the lobby.

"So then I said to him "Da-eum-e ju-se-yo, Jun-sae-hyung!", as if he was my ex-boyfriend!" Mikari was saying animatedly. "God, I felt so embarrassed when I realized what I'd done."

Aikawa cracked up at his mistake. "So what did _he_ say?"

Mikari made an abashed face. "Well, he wasn't going to let it go without making me explain the whole thing."

"And so you did," came a deep voice from behind them. The two spun around faster than whirling dervishes and were beyond shocked to find, standing before them, none other than Ijuuin himself.

Mikari froze, his mouth hanging slightly open, the continuation of his story stuck in his throat. His mind was fast-forwarding over the rest of the tale, abruptly transitioning to slow-motion when he got to the part in his remembrance when he had said _he was the guy I liked before you_. Unprompted, his mind played and replayed the moment over and over. He repeated his thoughts from Thursday morning and came to the conclusion that he was about to end up having screwed himself over because of unwise disclosures. Now, sooner than he'd thought, he would get the chance to see Ijuuin's reaction to his accidentally honest words.

Aikawa, meanwhile, was picking up the conversational slack left by Mikari's sudden stroke.

"Ijuuin-sensei, fancy seeing you here," she greeted the mangaka.

"Yes, someone recommended this place to me," he replied, omitting the detail that it had been Mikari who had led him to the onsen. "They described it as "amazingly relaxing", and I was thinking I could use something like that."

Mikari, still stuck in his memory loop, heard Ijuuin's words and vaguely thought to himself that they sounded strangely familiar, not realizing they were his own.

"Well, whoever they were, they were absolutely right," Aikawa agreed. "So how long are you planning to stay?"

"Oh, just tonight and tomorrow," Ijuuin answered. "A certain someone reminded me I shouldn't be giving my editor grief, I'm sure you'd agree with that."

Aikawa chuckled. "Say, we were just about to have dinner. Would you like to join us?"

Ijuuin smiled wickedly at Mikari, whose blank eyes failed to register any scheming in the expression, perceiving it only as uncomplicated happiness. "I'd be delighted to."

"Excellent, then. Well, we'll go change and meet you in the dining room."

Aikawa turned to Mikari, for the first time registering the vacant look on his face.

"Mikari?"

Mikari shook his head hard and reentered the land of the fully conscious. "Right, right, of course," he said, bowing briefly to Ijuuin and then following his cousin to their room.

Once there, the two cousins changed back into their kimono: Aikawa's was light blue, spotted here and there with red koi, while Mikari's was light grey, belted in bright purple. Redressed, the two made their way to the dining room, where they met up with Ijuuin. The mangaka also wore a kimono; his was the same light grey as Mikari's but belted in deep blue that brought out the endless seas of his eyes. When the three met Ijuuin smiled slyly at Mikari at the sight of his young friend in his kimono, reaffirming his conviction the young black-haired man could be quite cute. As if Mikari could see into Ijuuin's mind and read the author's thoughts, he blushed as red as the koi that decorated his cousin's kimono.

"I got us a table," Ijuuin said, motioning to them to follow him. Together they proceeded to a table at the back of the onsen's restaurant and sat down, Ijuuin and Aikawa opposite each other and Mikari sitting awkwardly between them. He couldn't help sneaking rapid glances at the mangaka as the man ordered tea and three seafood set meals for them, and as he casually conversed with Aikawa.

"So, how are things going with your authors?" Ijuuin asked her. Mikari could see her forcing herself not to rant about them; instead, she gave him status updates on their works-in-progress and happily announced they had been able to go away this weekend because one of her authors had actually gotten his work in before deadline. Ijuuin was impressed by the author's accomplishment, noting that he had handed his work in early only once or twice in his long years of writing. It was much more common for him to go over deadline, he admitted genially, and Aikawa admitted with remarkably good humor that her authors behaved in much the same way. For his part, Ijuuin explained, it was because it was hard to him to be satisfied with his work; he would sometimes get to a point where he felt so hopeless that he thought he had better start over from square one.

"You've seen me like that, Aikawa-kun, you know what I mean," he said, directing the remark to the thus far silent cousin.

"Hmm?" Mikari asked. He had been lost in thought, his mind drifting back to the dream he had been having that morning when Ijuuin's phone call had broken his sleep. Jun-sae had had Ijuuin's face, he remembered. He had just been thinking it must be Freudian to dream about the face of the man you hoped would be your new boyfriend stitched onto the body of the man who had been your old one when Ijuuin had addressed him.

"You know, the day we first met," Ijuuin reminded him.

"When you were lying in a heap on the floor of your apartment like you were dead?" Mikari asked, too startled to properly compose his words.

Ijuuin's expression was one of distaste at his own failings. "Yes."

"Yeah, that was pretty bad," Mikari said. "I had to carry you to the bathroom, and I was pretty worried you were going to fall in the shower, hit your head on the tile and die right then and there. We would find your naked body lying there with your brains all spilled out on the floor and mourn that we could never again read a new issue of The Kan."

Ijuuin chuckled uneasily, imagining Mikari's vision. "Good thing I didn't slip, then."

"Yeah," responded Mikari, chuckling to himself as well, "those are some pretty important brains."

"Say, how about we change the subject from skulls cracked open before the food gets here?" Aikawa suggested, breaking the insulated bubble Mikari and Ijuuin had been unconsciously forming around the two of them. Mikari, who had been staring into Ijuuin's eyes without realizing it, broke his gaze away to look at his cousin.

"Right," Ijuuin restarted. "So, Aikawa-kun, how is school going?"

"Yeah," agreed Aikawa, "gotten any closer to deciding what to study?"

Mikari made a disgusted face–he had not, and it was a constant source of worry for him.

Ijuuin, however, was surprised by his cousin's question. "Aikawa-kun, you're not sure what you want to study? I'm surprised you're not studying culinary arts."

Mikari laughed softly, "You flatter me, sensei."

The mangaka frowned softly. "I'm serious," he said, his tone matching his assertion. "You've never thought of becoming a chef? You're good enough to be one, and I'm not just saying that to compliment you."

"Three seafood set meals," the waiter said, inadvertently interrupting their conversation. As they ate their meals, they never returned to the topic; instead, Aikawa and Mikari took turns telling the author what they had done that day, suggesting activities he might enjoy the next day.

After they had finished eating Aikawa left, saying she was going to go relaxing in the bath. Mikari, too, excused himself, saying he wanted to go outside and have a smoke.

"I'll come join you once I've finished my sake," Ijuuin said, not bothering to specify whether he meant he would go take a bath or go outside and sit with Mikari.

The raven-haired boy made his way out onto the deck and sat down at the edge, letting his feet dangle off into the air as he had done that morning. Loosening his kimono slightly to allow the cool evening air to kiss his warm skin, he took his cigarettes and lighter out of where he had stowed them in his kimono. Pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose from where they had drifted down, he flicked the lighter and carefully lit up. Replacing the rest of the pack and his lighter from whence he had taken them, he leaned back gently, inhaling deeply and sighing out a stream of white smoke.

As the nicotine made its way into his bloodstream and calmed his nerves, he allowed himself to think about Ijuuin. He had been expecting more of a reaction from the author on his Wednesday night confession, but the mangaka seemed to be acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Mikari wasn't sure whether to be glad or disappointed. Sure, the mangaka hadn't come out and formally rejected him, but he hadn't given him any indication that he would accept his love. To the glasses-clad boy, the eventuality of the former was almost certain, but he did find it strange that Ijuuin hadn't said anything to him yet. Perhaps because they had been joined all night by his cousin, and Ijuuin was being kind enough not to refuse Mikari in front of her. He wasn't sure. Seeing Ijuuin at the onsen was a surprise, but when he thought back to their phone call that morning, he could understand. He _had_ described the onsen as amazingly relaxing; if the mangaka was looking to take some time off from the stress of writing it made sense that he would come out to Tateyama. Here was probably as good as anywhere to him, Mikari thought.

"Aren't you the picture of tranquility?" a soft voice asked, and when Mikari lazily turned his head, he saw it was Ijuuin, standing at the door to the deck. "Can I join you?"

"Sure," Mikari replied, and the author strolled over to sit down with him.

"Want to lean up against my back?" he asked, sitting down behind Mikari, "there aren't any chairs out here to lean up against, and you don't want to fall backwards."

"Thanks," Mikari said, yawning and stretching. He turned to so Ijuuin could sit at the edge of the deck while still remaining back to back with him, bending his knees and setting his feet on the cool wood of the deck. The mangaka shifted with him, and he leaned back, resting against the man's broad back.

They sat there in silence for a while, both lost in thought while Mikari smoked.

"Comfortable?" Ijuuin asked, gently breaking the silence.

"I could fall asleep like this," Mikari absently replied, tapping the ash from his cigarette off the edge of the deck.

"Well, before you do, can I have a cigarette?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah." Mikari pulled himself up off Ijuuin's back and took his pack of cigarettes out of his kimono again. The two turned to each other and Ijuuin took the cigarette Mikari offered, putting it into his mouth. The mangaka expected Mikari to offer him his lighter, but instead the younger man bent his head close to Ijuuin's, lighting the author's cigarette with the smoldering tip of his own. Ijuuin took a deep breath in and a long one out, closing his eyes in satisfaction. It had been a long time since he had allowed himself a cigarette.

The two resumed their positions, and Mikari asked, "You smoke, sensei?"

"Not very often, but yes," Ijuuin replied, feeling the raven-haired man's warm weight resume its place on his back.

"I started when I was with Jun-sae," Mikari explained. Ijuuin could feel his deep breaths in and out and he unconsciously began to sync his breathing with that of the younger man. "He smoked constantly, so I guess I got used to breathing in cigarette smoke."

"Did he teach you that cigarette kiss?" Ijuuin asked daringly, and he could feel Mikari tense up in reply. He knew without looking that the boy was blushing a red as bright as the light of their burning cigarettes in the dark night air.

"What?" Mikari asked in a remarkably controlled voice, after enough time had elapsed to allow him to control it.

"Lighting one cigarette with the tip of another," Ijuuin explained, "like you did with mine. I call it a cigarette kiss."

Mikari relaxed infinitesimally. "Oh. Yeah."

He sighed, and they smoked in silence for a while longer until Ijuuin again broke the silence with a question.

"Aikawa-kun, may I call you Mikari?"

For a moment, he thought the raven-haired man really had fallen asleep, then Mikari quietly replied, "Yeah, I guess."

"Mikari, did you mean what you said to me Wednesday night?"

He was surprised not to feel Mikari tensing up behind him. Instead, the man stayed soundless for a long few breaths, finally whispering, almost to himself, "Here it comes."

"Hmm?"

Mikari sighed his deepest sigh yet, then relinquished a "Yes".

"So you did mean it as a confession?"

Blowing out another long stream of smoke, Mikari said, "If you really mean to make me say it in so many words, yes. Even though I didn't intend to say it, it was an honest confession of my feelings for you. But I know you're interested in someone else, so you can go ahead and turn me down. I've prepared myself for it." Ijuuin felt the boy chuckle against his back. "Oh, and by the way, sensei, my friend informed me that the legal age for drinking in Japan is actually twenty, so I'm underage."

"Does that mean you won't drink with me again?"

Mikari laughed again. "No," he said. "It's too late now, you already know all of my secrets, so there's not much of a point."

He took another long breath of nicotine. "As for the legality of it, well, I started smoking while I was still underage, too, so as long as you don't report me for it, I don't care."

Ijuuin chuckled. "If I reported you, I'd be reporting myself for serving alcohol to someone underage at the same time, so I won't."

Mikari chuckled too, sarcastically replying, "Thanks, sensei."

Internalizing more nicotine, the author returned to the original topic.

"So, about your confession, could I have some time before I answer it?"

"Sure," said Mikari, tossing the embers of his cigarette off the edge of the deck. It was pretty clear to Ijuuin the boy thought he would receive a denial, but he wasn't sure. He didn't want to give a clear answer until he had made a firm decision, and he wasn't ready to do that yet. He still had to see if he could turn his heart away from Misaki and towards someone who could love him without needing to be requited, as he loved Misaki.

A/N: Yeah, so I don't smoke, so all the smoking-related stuff is just my imagination and observation.


	15. A Diverting Sunday

A/N: I don't own JJR. Thanks for reading and enjoy chapter fifteen.

Chapter Fifteen: A Diverting Sunday

Somehow, despite his desire to sleep late again, Mikari awoke the next morning before his cousin, feeling oddly refreshed for that hour of the morning. Dressing himself in a shirt, sleeveless hoodie, and pants rolled up to the knees, he decided to take advantage of his early rising to enjoy a solitary walk on the beach. When he stopped at the beachfront cafe to buy a coffee; however, he saw Ijuuin sitting there, sipping on a coffee of his own.

"You're up early," the mangaka said. Mikari's heart tumbled quickly at the author's just-woken appearance; his brown hair still sleepily tousled and his dark blue eyes bleary with sleep. Sleepy looked attractive on Ijuuin, he decided. Unintentionally supporting the conclusion, the man yawned broadly, and Mikari found his face unconsciously mimicking the author's action.

"Yeah," he replied, taking a sip of his hot coffee and sighing deeply in satisfaction at the feeling of the caffeine entering his bloodstream. "I randomly woke up, so I thought I'd go for a walk on the beach while it's still empty."

"Mind if I join you?" Ijuuin asked.

"Not at all," Mikari replied, and the dark blue-eyed man rose from where he sat on the terrace and joined him. Together, the two silently strode down to the beach. There, Mikari removed his shoes and waded casually into the water. The chill was bracing, yet strangely invigorating, waking any trace of sleepiness still in his system. His eyes where the cold, clear water touched Mikari's bare ankles, Ijuuin repeated Aikawa's assessment of the water's temperature.

"Isn't it cold?" he asked.  
"You forget, I lived in Canada," Mikari boasted, falling into the northerner's tendency to play up their enhanced cold tolerance to impress. Ijuuin nodded sagely, but kept carefully out of the water: he was Tokyo born and bred. The two strode casually down the beach, Mikari stepping in and out of the water, Ijuuin carefully keeping his shod feet dry.

"So, how are you enjoying Japan so far?" Ijuuin asked after a long period of silence broken only by the gentle splashing of Mikari's feet going in and out of water.

Mikari thought a while before answering and once again only the quiet sound of his feet disturbing the surface of the water was heard.

"It's a lot similar to what I remember from when I was young," he began. "Both in Tokyo and out here. But at the same time, it's a completely different place, mostly because I'm seeing it with eyes that have changed quite a bit since I was five years old." He cast a glance towards Ijuuin to see if the mangaka seemed to be following, and Ijuuin nodded to signal that he understood. "It's not just that everything isn't quite as big as it seemed when I was a little kid, or something like that, though. It's… I don't know… I can see more complexity in everything now, I guess." Ijuuin nodded logically, and Mikari added, "More complex is good, though."

Ijuuin smiled, saying, "Well, as long as it's good."

For some reason, it was these words, and not those from before, that made Mikari suddenly, uncontrollably blush. It was as if he had only just realized he was strolling alone down a beach with the man he held in his heart. Seeing it, Ijuuin fought the urge to chuckle at the boy's embarrassment; instead suggesting they go back to check if Aikawa had awoken yet. Naturally, Mikari jumped at the diversion. When they got back, Aikawa was waiting for them in the lobby, drinking her morning coffee.

"Mikari," she greeted, sounding surprised to see him, "you're up early." Then, seeing his companion, she added, " Good morning, Ijuuin."

The brown-haired man returned the introduction, explaining he had met Mikari at the cafe up the beach and walked with him for a short while. Listening to his words, Aikawa nodded–it made sense; after all, she and Mikari had walked down the beach just the previous day, so she knew how refreshing it was.

Finishing her coffee, she suggested their activity for the day, saying, "Mikari, let's go to that garden I was telling you about yesterday. I was chatting with one of the wait staff this morning, and she said they've got a seasonal flower display that's supposed to be beautiful. Ijuuin, you're welcome to come along if you'd like."

The two agreed wholeheartedly with her proposal, and not long after, they were heading along the way to the garden. The promised flower display truly was a marvel, carefully cultivated with many types of flowers arranged into a botanical picture show. Aikawa had never had much of an interest in horticulture, but she had to admit it was nice that someone did, and could use it to make these artistic displays. While they wandered among the beds, she took advantage of Mikari's distraction at the floral beauty to speak secretly with Ijuuin.

"Ijuuin-sensei, it's not that I don't trust you, but I have to ask: is it a coincidence that you showed up here the very same weekend we did?"

"Of course," Ijuuin lied. "How would I know you were going to be here? I couldn't have predicted one of your authors would get their manuscript in early–you can't predict miracles, after all."

Aikawa appeared to believe him, nodding her head sagely. "True enough," she replied. "I'm sorry if I seemed to be implying anything strange. I should really be saying things like "it's nice to see you here, Ijuuin" and "any friend of Mikari's is a friend of mine"."

"I'll pretend that was what you said, then," the author commented.

Aikawa grinned. Then, on a more serious note, she added, "Actually, though, I think Usami-sensei's probably rubbed off on me a little and made me not trust you. But, realistically, I can't blame you for trying underhanded means to get closer to Misaki. Obsessive tendencies like that run in my family, too, after all." She gave the dark blue-eyed man a wise and vaguely threatening look. "Just be careful with Mikari, okay? I know he knows about your feelings for Misaki, since the two are friends, but, like I said, obsessive tendencies run in the family."

Ijuuin nodded, implicitly promising to take care. No sooner had he done so than who should reappear than the very subject of their conversation, wanting to show them an interesting flower arrangement he'd happened upon while walking ahead of them.

The rest of the day passed peacefully. The three visited a second shrine, praying in unison for all authors to be productive and not exceed their deadlines, and they lunched at a new restaurant, eating seafood straight from the source. As the evening drew near, they returned to the inn to pack their belongings, deciding to return to Tokyo together. On the way, they stopped in Chiba to sample the restaurant Ijuuin had suggested to Mikari over the phone. It was Italian, and they ordered spaghetti and lasagna, gratefully tucking in to the works of a chef who had come to Japan from Italy to make his native cuisine as an exotic dish.

"I should make something non-Japanese for you, sensei," Mikari commented, swallowing the bite of lasagna he'd just eaten. "I know a lot of non-Japanese dishes as a result of living in Canada, so why not give you the chance to try something new?"

Aikawa, slurping up a bite of her spaghetti, added, "You should make him that soup, what was it called? Bouillabaisse? With all the seafood." Recalling the memory of the taste, she licked some of the tomato sauce off her lips. "That was great."

"Bou-ya-bez?" Ijuuin asked, unfamiliar with the French word.

Mikari smirked, "You'll see." Ijuuin could practically see the wheels and gears in the young chef's head turning as he began plotting for their next dinner.

They finished their dinner, Aikawa and Mikari thanking Ijuuin for the recommendation, and together returned to Tokyo. Each party thanking the other for the good company that weekend, they returned to their apartments, refreshed by the weekend and ready to start a new week's worth of work.


	16. Killer Knives and Chocolate Cookies

A/N: Don't own JJR. Thank you for continuing to read and I hope you like chapter sixteen.

Chapter Sixteen: Killer Knives and Chocolate Cookies

As Wednesday crept towards him, Mikari stressed and worried about what he should prepare for his third dinner with Ijuuin. He felt like he had to keep raising the stakes to keep the mangaka complimenting his cooking, but he wasn't sure what he had in his arsenal that could meet his impossibly high standards. Standing in front of the seafood counter at the local supermarket Tuesday evening, he told himself he shouldn't be worrying so much–hadn't Ijuuin said he would make a good chef professionally just that Saturday? At the same time, though, that meant that he had high expectations for Mikari's cooking, which meant the boy couldn't just make anything. Wracking his brains, the black-haired boy forced himself to make a choice, gathered the ingredients, and walked out of the store, hoping nervously that what he'd chosen would be good enough to wow his beloved mangaka once again.

When he made his way to lunch the next day, Fujikage was waiting for him, ready to ask him what was on this week's "special menu", as she called it. He made a face, objecting to the designation, but obeyed, detailing his planned meal.

"Wow, that sounds good," she commented, shoving a bite of rice into her mouth. "Let me come over for dinner again some time? I won't give you no notice like I did last time, you can decide when to invite me."

Distracted by worries reactivated by her mention of the meal, Mikari nodded listlessly. Seeing the intense contemplation on his face, a look of concern crept onto Fujikage's face. She knew by now how prone to overthinking her friend was when it came to the man he had feelings for.

"You told me you saw him last weekend, right?" she asked, her voice more-than-normally reserved. "What did he say?"

She left the obvious _about your confession_ unsaid, thinking Mikari might prefer not to think about it too overtly. He had seemed pretty anxious about it before, worried he might have ruined his friendship with the mangaka.

Instead of answering, Mikari propped his forehead in his hand, effectively covering his face as he stared at the table. Fujikage reflected briefly that this seemed to be his default reaction to talking about things he didn't want to address, but supposed that was because he had an expressive face and didn't want the faces he made to get in the way of conversation.

Mikari sighed deeply, and Fujikage recognized she wasn't about to hear of a happy acceptance of her friend's confession. Confirming her thoughts, Mikari said, "He asked for more time. Which I guess isn't exactly a no, but I'm pretty certain it's going to be. I mean, he's probably just asking for time so he can make a show of thinking it over before he turns me down outright, isn't he?"

"So?" she prompted him to go on.

"Well, I'm not going to give up," he continued, his voice lifeless and showing none of the motivation his words indicated. "I'm kind of past that point, anyway," he admitted, and Fujikage understood. His feelings weren't going to undo themselves just because their object asked for more time. She suspected Mikari was the kind of person that even a cold, hard denial wouldn't sway to stand down in his heart. He would keep throwing himself at the door even when he knew it was locked and the key thrown away. It was just who he was.

For his sake, she hoped the key was still firmly in Ijuuin's hand.

She smiled encouragingly at her black-haired friend. "Good luck tonight."

He nodded, and she steered their conversation on to other things: the tricky homework Kamijou-sensei had recently assigned. He had no mercy, the two friends agreed, and Fujikage remarked their cold-hearted professor would probably yell at someone for using an e-book instead of the paper version. That made Mikari laugh, and she was glad to pull his mind away from what she knew was endless contemplation.

But as soon as school let out, his mind returned to its pattern of worry. He had thought he could at least count upon his cooking skills, but those had to be supported by creativity of dish, and he couldn't be so sure of that faculty anymore. Maybe what he had chosen for that night's meal would delight Ijuuin, but he wasn't certain, and he couldn't get over the feeling that he needed to be certain. For a second, his brain broke free of his nerves to wonder if this was how Ijuuin felt about his manuscripts, what obsessed him into that near-death state Mikari had seen once before. But the mind-wandering was short lived, his thoughts returning again to the same well-worn track.

It wasn't helped when, as soon as Ijuuin let him in the door, the mangaka asked, "What new marvels do you have planned for me tonight?" His voice impossibly smooth in the saying.

Mikari turned his back on the man, ostensibly to hang up his coat. Really, he just needed a second of avoiding the mangaka's ocean blue eyes with their whirlpools that drew him into their depths. Surreptitiously breathing deeply in and out to calm himself, he furiously forced himself to calm down and slowly turned back to face Ijuuin.

"Well, I was thinking about how we were talking about bouillabaisse on Sunday, so I decided we'd have paella tonight," he replied, his voice (he thought to himself) amazingly controlled considering the uneven rhythm of his heartbeat.

"What?" Ijuuin asked, not even bothering to attempt to pronounce the foreign dish this time. His expression was a gauze of confusion wrapped over an amused smile.

"It's a seafood and rice dish," Mikari explained simply, figuring the finished dish would explain better than he possibly could.

"Can I help this time too?" Ijuuin asked, pulling a knife free of his knife block and brandishing it semi-dangerously.

Mikari, watching the silver steel slashing harmlessly through the air, couldn't keep himself from chuckling at his sensei's extravagant motions.

"Help make dinner or help murder me?" he inquired, smirking. Ijuuin looked suitably chastened and stopped waving the blade, setting it down carefully on the countertop.

Strolling over, Mikari set a bag down on the counter beside the mangaka. "You can chop the salad ingredients," he told Ijuuin, who obediently pulled out a cutting board and started hacking away. While he was chopping, Mikari started making the paella, and their conversation went silent as they cooked together.

Soon the salad and paella were made and the two sat down at the table together to eat.

"Looks like you're not as bad at cooking as you claim," Mikari joked, chewing on a mouthful of lettuce and radish.

"Sure, I can cut a carrot," Ijuuin responded, spearing the aforementioned orange vegetable on one of his fork tines (they were using Western utensils for their Western-style meal). "That doesn't mean I wouldn't burn one if I tried to cook it."

When Mikari gave him a doubting look, the older man admitted, "Okay, I can cook some things. But not like you–I don't have the skills to be culinarily creative. My talents extend pretty much as far as the generic 'noodles or rice topped with assorted vegetables', nothing fancier."

Mikari raised his dark eyebrows artfully. "You know, you can only improve if you practice," he chided, undercutting his rebuke with a smile.

Ijuuin shrugged. "Why would I need to practice when I have you?"

Mikari stiffened, and Ijuuin wished he could unsay the words. He'd only meant them as a joke, but he could see that he made the boy uncomfortable; probably with how he thought the mangaka was sure to reject his confession it made him feel like Ijuuin was planning to use him for his culinary skills without acknowledging his feelings for the author. He could understand: he had asked for more time, which would be easy enough to interpret as dragging out the ultimate rejection in order to keep the boy cooking for him.

Not sure what he should say to cancel the effect of his words, Ijuuuin settled for, "Okay, okay, I promise I'll practice more. Just as long as you help me?"

The last sentence was unsure, ending up more as a question than the intended statement. He wanted to convey to Mikari that he wanted to continue cooking with the boy, that he wasn't planning to use him, but he couldn't be sure how Mikari take it. Luckily, the boy relaxed, agreeing to pretend Ijuuin hadn't said the previous sentence.

"Just as long as you don't try to stab me with one of those expensive knives," he said good-humoredly, referencing Ijuuin's earlier play at being a knife twirler.

They chatted lightly about Mikari's school life over dinner, which was how the university freshman learned that his ornery professor and Misaki's equally ornery boyfriend were more than likely to be friends if they were to meet–apparently they'd in fact been childhood friends, both coming from affluent backgrounds and preferring books to people. Mikari made note of the revelation to tell Fujikage the next day, remarking he and his friend wouldn't have guessed it despite the similarities between the two men. Ijuuin told the younger man about his days at school; he had finished a degree in art, parental pressure keeping him from dropping out to pursue manga. Instead, he'd drawn manga part-time before leaving university, becoming acclaimed before he graduated and having to negotiate between parents who hadn't approved of dropping out of university to pursue what they called "kids' magazines" and editors who pushed him to leave school and start drawing full-time. It had been a relief to finally get out, he told the black-haired boy, and it had been different for him than most students, since he hadn't had to find a job after leaving–he already had one. Mikari told him again how worried he was about his future after school–he was ostensibly in for psychology, since his parents wanted him to become a doctor and it was the least scientific course of study that could still be plausibly considered pre-med. This time, Ijuuin refrained from pointing out he could just study culinary arts, but Mikari could tell the words were just on the closed side of his lips.

When they finished dinner, he stood up from the table and headed back towards the kitchen, telling Ijuuin to wait there.

"Dessert is a surprise," he told the mangaka, who grinned audaciously.

A few moments later, Mikari emerged again from the kitchen, a tray of shortbread in his hands. Sitting beside them on the tray was a bottle of chocolate sauce to be drizzled over them, and he'd already decorated two: one each with the kanji for Ijuuin and his names. The mangaka's eyes lit up when he realized what Mikari intended to be done with the cookies, and he set about decorating his share, using his artistic skills to craft the chocolate drizzle over the cookies. First, he drew a picture of The Kan, ever his greatest masterpiece. Next, glancing up and back several times as he did so, he created a remarkably accurate picture of Mikari–no mean feat considering the small size of the cookies. The boy gasped when he saw it, immediately whipping out his phone to photograph the tiny image.

"Amazing, sensei!" he exclaimed breathlessly, and to make him say it again Ijuuin set to work on a miniature portrait of the boy's editor cousin.

"Incredible!" was Mikari's response when he saw it, and he subtly adjusted his glasses to peer closer at the masterwork. "Your drawing skill is really remarkably, sensei," he added, texting the image to Aikawa to approve of.

"So is your cooking style, Mikari-kun," Ijuuin rejoined, and Mikari blushed, half at the compliment and half to hear the mangaka say his first name so casually. The midnight blue-eyed man passed the chocolate sauce back to his younger counterpart, who, lacking artistic skill, could only decorate the cookies with kanji. So he wrote kanji: his name, Ijuuin's, his cousin's, Misaki's, Fujikage's (leaving Ijuuin wondering who that was), Jun-sae's. Seeing the circles of hangul in Jun-sae's name and understanding without being able to read them, Ijuuin reached over and took the cookie, biting through his young friend's ex-boyfriend's name mercilessly. For a reason he couldn't clearly define, he wanted to dissolve any influence the South Korean man still had over Mikari.

Finally the last cookie, decorated simply with a chocolate filled-in heart, was eaten, and their meal was finished. Packaging up the paella as he had done with the leftovers the first Wednesday, Mikari got ready to leave.

Handing him the chocolate sauce (which he'd almost forgotten), Ijuuin bid him farewell. "Until next time, Mikari-kun," he told the boy, winking one deep blue eye at the younger man.

It was with satisfaction that he noted the last look on the black-haired boy's face before he turned to go was a lovelorn blush.


	17. Aikawa Catering

A/N: Don't own JJR. Thank you for continuing to read and I hope you enjoy chapter seventeen.

Chapter Seventeen: Aikawa Catering

Mikari had just put on his pants and had a shirt halfway over his head the next morning when his phone rang, loudly trilling out his usual ringtone.

"Mmph, just a second!" he told the phone, fighting to wrench his shirt over his ears. His head freed from its fabric prison, he launched himself across his bed to grab his phone from where it lay charging on the window sill. His hands making contact with the cool, smooth glass, he snatched up the phone, answering it and pressing it to his ear.

"Mikari-kun?" the voice of Misaki filtered into his ear. Recognizing his friend's voice, he flipped over so he was no longer sprawling on his stomach and bent his knees so his legs dangled off the edge of his bed. Settled in a more comfortable position, he continued with the conversation.

"Misaki?" he replied.

"Good morning," the brunet greeted him. "I didn't wake you?"

Mikari chuckled, remembering a recent phone call that _had_ woken him and his less-than-civil reaction. "No, you'd know if you had," he told the green-eyed man.

On the other end of the phone, Misaki smiled at his friend's wry response.

"So, how have you been?" he asked. "It's been a while since we've seen each other."

Getting up from his bed–he hadn't yet had breakfast, and his stomach was demanding he do so–Mikari shuffled into the kitchen.

"Not bad," he told Misaki. "Eri and I went to an onsen over the weekend, so that was fun."

"Nice," Misaki replied, no doubt imagining past visits to hot springs and planning to get his grumpy boyfriend to take him away for a romantic weekend.

Mikari set down his phone and flicked on speaker, preparing some water to boil for his coffee.

"Hey, you're on speaker," he told his friend, taking the can of coffee grounds out of a cupboard.

"So how was it?" his friend's voice asked through his phone's speakers.

"We went down to Tateyama in Chiba," Mikari explained, spooning some coffee grounds into a filter. "One of Eri's authors got in before deadline (you know how rare that is) so she offered to take me for a weekend vacation." He thought back over the weekend, adding, "Actually, Ijuuin-sensei was down there, too. He had called me to ask about something Saturday morning and I happened to mention how nice it was there, so he decided to come."

"That's where he went?" Misaki said, and Mikari could tell from the brown-haired man's annoyance that Ijuuin had in fact been avoiding his editor. There was a pause, and then Misaki added, his voice more subdued, "Wait, he went down to Tateyama because you were there?"

"No, no," Mikari replied, "He went down because I said how relaxing it was, and he wanted to go somewhere relaxing."

He could practically hear his friend's doubtful eyebrow raise, but told himself Misaki was reading too much into it. There was no way Ijuuin would travel to Tateyama for his sake, it was merely a coincidence. He had happened to tell the mangaka how pleasant it was there and the author, who had already been looking to go somewhere, had chosen his particular onsen. Ijuuin wouldn't do something like that for him–Misaki maybe, considering his unrequited love, but not him. He was only a friend, a fan who he had charmed into cooking for him on a weekly basis.

"Then he happened to spend most of Sunday with us because we were people he knew there," he continued.

"You are being careful with him like I told you to, right?" Misaki asked, concerned.

The kettle screeched, giving Mikari the perfect cover to irritatedly mutter, "Like that would make him fall for me."

"What was _that_?"

Turning of the burner, Mikari opened up the kettle to let off the excess steam, killing its scream. "I'm heating water for coffee," he replied. "Sorry. And yes, I'm being careful." He held the sarcasm out of his voice as he poured the water over the waiting coffee grounds. "So, how have _you_ been?"

Misaki was evidently glad to move off the subject of the dark-blue eyed mangaka, and told his friend how life was going with his beloved rabbit. The grey-haired man's father was giving them some trouble, he told Mikari, but it was nothing that he couldn't handle. He just had to keep making his intentions clear, keep him away from trying to wreak emotional damage on his son.

"Well, I have to get going for school," Mikari told him once his breakfast was finished. "But thanks for calling to chat with me."

"Yeah," Misaki replied. Mikari was about to hang up when his friend suddenly added, "Wait. This guy from work told me to give you his number. Onodera Ritsu, do you know him? He said something about lunch?"

"Right, yes," Mikari replied, remembering his promise to prepare lunch for the Emerald editor and his section chief. He told his friend about the encounter, and Mikari recited the number to him, mentioning they should have lunch together sometime soon as well.

As he stepped out of the elevator on his way to the university, Mikari dialed the number Misaki had given him. The voice that answered him was vaguely reminiscent of his own the previous Saturday morning.

"What the fuck do you want!?" It spat, enraged by the early waking.

"Onodera-san?" he asked hesitantly. "I'm sorry if I woke you, but Takahashi-kun said you had asked about lunch–I guess you remembered my promise to make it for you?"

"Oh," the voice replied, its rage downgraded to irritation. "This is Takano, Ritsu's still asleep. Sorry about that, but I can give you our order, too."

Mikari remembered the black-haired man that had joined them in the hallway, his dark eyes even more sleepless than his younger colleague's green ones. The intense venom made even more sense with this information: it had been clear to him from the look in Takano's eyes that the eternally tired man needed as much sleep as he could get. He wondered at Takano picking up Ritsu's phone, but ignored it for the time being.

"Ah, Takano-san, good morning," he told the tall man. "What were you two hoping to get, and when? I'm off to school right now, but if you wanted something for tomorrow I can make it tonight."

"Yes, that was when I was asking about," Takano replied, his voice having grown immensely more polite since his initial greeting. "We have a deadline coming soon, and neither of us has eaten anything but convenience store bentos for about a week now." He sounded pained to have to say it, ashamed of the lengths to which his workaholic nature drove him to discard any semblance of life outside work.

"Sure," Mikari said, pitying the unenviably busy life Marukawa editors all seemed to lead. "What did you want me to make you?"

Takano named a few dishes, unsurprisingly all comfort food, and Mikari told him he'd make it that night and bring it over the next day after school. Takano thanked him heartily, and the two hung up, wishing each other a good day.

When Mikari set out for Marukawa the next day after school, he was laden with enough food to feed four people. From the way Takano described it, he assumed the two editors hadn't eaten anything even vaguely healthy in days, which meant they'd be hungry. Beside, it seemed to be a pattern that he'd bring food to Marukawa and someone else would ask some, he had to bring extra just in case that happened.

When he reached the Emerald team's section, therefore, he was unsurprised to see Kirishima, Ijuuin's editor, standing there with them, discussing some matter with Takano. Seeing Mikari laden with bags, Kirishima's light brown eyebrows went up, interest shining in his matching light brown eyes.

"Aikawa-kun, what brings _you_ here today?" he asked, sounding skeptical of Mikari's motives.

Before Mikari could answer, however, Ritsu interjected, explaining,

"Aikawa-kun offered to make lunch for us one day, and we decided to take him up on it today."

Kirishima nodded, recollecting. "Right, I remember seeing you three talking," he replied. "So, Aikawa-kun, what did you make?" He followed Mikari, who Ritsu led to his desk, eagerly hungry. Mikari set the bags down on the man's desk, presenting the dishes one by one to Ritsu's admiration. Even Takano, who had previously seemed incapable of arranging his face into a pleasant expression, looked grateful at the meal he'd requested.

Kirishima scanning his eyes over the array of dishes, looking impressed despite himself.

"Say, Aikawa-kun, do you think I could have some? I've heard you're quite the talented chef, and I'd love to try your cooking."

"Not at all, I brought extra," the boy replied. "Actually, I anticipated having to feed more than these two anyway." Smiling at how Takano and Ritsu were already digging into the food with gusto, he placed some of the plastic containers in a bag for Kirishima to take back with him, handing the bag the editor-in-chief's way.

"Thank you," Kirishima responded, taking the proffered food. "I'd better get back, but remember what I told you, Takano." He exchanged a glance with the dark-haired man and Takano nodded in reply. Casting his eyes at Mikari, he added, "It was nice to see you again, Aikawa-kun. I'd say hi to Kyo for you, but he's not in today."

Smiling at the mention of the author's name, Mikari chuckled lightly. "That's okay," he commented, "I've seen him a lot lately anyway. We have our weekly dinners, and I saw him in Tateyama this weekend–we happened to be vacationing at the same onsen."

"Is that so?" Kirishima wondered, his eyebrows returning to the same suspiciously pensive state they'd been in when he first saw Mikari at Marukawa. "Well, I expect I'll see you again. Have a good evening."

With that, he turned and left, taking the goodie bag of Mikari's cooking with him. Three pairs of eyes followed his retreating back, having noted he seemed to be in a scheming mood.

"Does he seem like he's plotting something?" Mikari asked his catering clients. Two pairs of shoulders shrugged, pretending not to understand; two mouths full of food an excuse not to give a verbal reply to his question.

"Ah, well, he's probably not," Mikari answered his own question. "Well, enjoy the food, you two. See you next time."

With that, he left, and the party of three was down to two.

Looking over at his boyfriend, Ritsu commented, "He's a good cook," before shoving another bite into his already full mouth.

"Mm," Takano agreed, and the two resolved to patronize Aikawa Catering again.


	18. A Friend of Mine

A/N: Don't own JJR. Please enjoy chapter eighteen!

Chapter Eighteen: A Friend of Mine

Ijuuin was searching among his writing detritus for a new pen (his old one had finally dried up) when the phone rang. When he saw who it was, he was prepared to ignore it, but then his hand suddenly lit upon the very object he was looking for, and he no longer had the excuse that he was doing "something else important".

Ruefully, he took the call. "Chief editor, to what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked smoothly, concealing the fact he had been about to not answer the phone.

"How's work coming along?" Kirishima asked.

Ijuuin rolled his eyes, thinking, _how's work coming along? You're the one disrupting my work for this pointless call_. But he had to acknowledge that editors had a responsibility to check on their authors, and he had left Kirishima in the lurch more than once in the past.

"Fine," he told the wavy-haired man. "Just switching out a pen right now, in fact."

"You think you're going to meet your deadline this time?"

Ijuuin rolled his eyes again. "Yeah, sure," he replied non-committally, "everything's coming along just fine."

"I heard you went on vacation last weekend," Kirishima commented, "out to an onsen Tateyama?"

It was then that Ijuuin noticed the crafty tone underlying the editor-in-chief's words. But Kirishima seemed to be plotting something more often that not, so he ignored it, replying, "Yeah, a friend of mine recommended it."

There was a brief pause, and then Kirishima skeptically replied, "Aikawa Mikari?"

Ijuuin went silent–he'd been caught, and he knew Kirishima could read volumes from his silence. He could imagine the man's expression as he condemned the mangaka with a name, face resting on steepled fingers, light brown eyebrows raised in suspicion, equally light brown eyes narrowed by eyelids made heavy by doubt.

After a long and thoroughly awkward silence, the dark blue-eyed author relented. "Yes."

"He said it was a coincidence seeing you out there," Kirishima commented languidly, "but it wasn't, was it?"

Ijuuin ground his teeth and swallowed his pride. "No."

"Gotten any further on figuring out if you like him?" the editor pointedly asked him.

"No," the mangaka growled, sulking. He could almost hear Kirishima rolling his eyes at him at the remark.

"Well, you might want to try exerting a little effort to find out," the brown-haired man ordered him. "He's not just going to hang around cooking you delicious meals and hanging on your every word forever, you know." Kirishima chuckled, adding, "I got the chance to try a sample of his food earlier, actually. You were right, he really _is_ skilled."

"Was there anything else that you wanted?" Ijuuin inquired irritatedly, annoyed by the turn the conversation had taken.

"Oh, no," his editor replied lightly. There was a sudden beeping noise as Kirishima ended the call before Ijuuin could defiantly hang up on him. Sometimes the brown-eyed man knew him a little _too_ well.

He knew Kirishima was right, though: that was the most frustrating thing. He couldn't drag this thing with Mikari out forever. Asking the boy for more time to consider his confession didn't give him license to put it out of his mind and ignore Mikari's feelings. At some point, he would need to confront his own emotions. And the sooner that was, the better.


	19. Table For Three

A/N: Don't own JJR. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy chapter nineteen.

Chapter Nineteen: Table for Three

When Mikari arrived at Ijuuin's the next Wednesday, the author was bent over a table covered with paper, hard at work on the latest chapter of his well-known weird food manga. Pages lay scattered all over the low table, covered with red and black ink, a battle of corrective changes and authorial resistance to them. Mikari forced himself not to spy on Ijuuin's creation, telling himself the preferred method was surely to wait until the manga officially came out and then read it along with everyone else, not to abuse his friendship with its author for sneak peeks. He took his grocery bags to the counter, unloading the ingredients for the night's meal beside the stainless steel sink.

Ijuuin cleared his throat, rustling some papers; he hadn't looked up when Mikari came in, focused as he was on his work. Looking fondly at him, Mikari decided to bring him a cup of coffee from the partly full pot on sitting beside the fridge; he was probably tired from a long day of writing and drawing. Taking a mug from the mangaka's cabinet, he filled it, decorating it with cream and sugar, then turned to bring it over to Ijuuin.

There was the sound of a door closing in the hallway, and then Misaki entered the room, obviously unaware that Mikari had arrived.

"Sensei, come on," he berated the dark blue-eyed man, "you said you wanted to get this done before evening, but at this rate we won't get done until tomorrow evening."

Mikari froze at the sound of his voice, one step beyond the edge of the counter. His fingers tightened around the handle of the mug, irrational anger clouding his vision. _How dare you be with him on a Wednesday_ , he thought. _That's_ my _night with him_. _Mine_. The vise-like grip of his fingers disturbed the coffee, and a little sloshed over the edge, tumbling through the air and soaking into his sock, scalding his foot beneath. He hissed in pain, and Misaki, hearing the noise, shifted his gaze to see where the noise had come from, his eyes finally landing on the black-haired boy standing with a coffee cup in his hand.

The change in his expression was instantaneous, a clear _I've made an awful mistake_. He, too, froze, his wide eyes taking in Mikari's unmistakably angry visage and assessing in an instant the reasoning behind it. He paled, unable to breathe a word of the frightened apology Mikari's jealous expression demanded.

"Misaki-kun?" Ijuuin questioned, feeling the room's atmosphere grow more glacial with the two younger men's silences. He looked sideways at his editor, then, noticing the motionless cast of the brunet's features and fixed nature of his stare, turned slowly to see what the man was looking at to make his expression such as it was. When his eyes caught Mikari standing there, coffee mug in hand, he joined the group of winter sculptures, freezing in place just as the others had done. His eyes, the only unfrozen part of him, tracked back and forth between Mikari and Misaki, awareness of his error growing greater and greater with every passing second.

"Ah, sensei, I think we're done for today," Misaki forced out awkwardly, taking a hesitant step towards the exit.

"Yes, you should probably get going," Ijuuin agreed tonelessly, not looking at his editor, his eyes fixed on the black-haired boy before him.

As he watched, the boy's eyes hardened, morphing from ice into granite, and his face set.

"Why don't you stay for dinner, Takahashi-kun?" Mikari asked coldly, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. Misaki, edging towards the door, stopped moving, his eyes seeking Ijuuin's, trying to determine how the mangaka would react.

Ijuuin, meanwhile, was staring, his eyes narrowed, at Mikari, trying to read his thoughts. The boy was regarding him just as piercingly, his stare as concentrated as the mangaka's own. This was clearly a challenge, but what move would meet with the boy's approval? Did Mikari want him to dismiss his editor out of hand and focus entirely on his expected guest, or prove, through dining calmly with the man he'd had feelings for, that he was working to get over his handsome young editor? Unsure of what to do next, he broke eye contact with Mikari for a second, glancing over at Misaki to see his expression.

"Um, okay?" Misaki replied, seeing Ijuuin's glance as permission to stay. Mikari turned back to the counter, hiding his face from the two watching, and returned to his post at the cabinets, taking out a cutting board and knife.

Feeling his heart sinking, Ijuuin neglected to ask if he could help with the preparations, sensing Mikari wouldn't welcome the offer today. Instead, he sat back down on the couch and returned his eyes to his latest work, burning holes in the innocent paper with his anxious eyes. Misaki, to came to sit on the couch beside him; both unconsciously forcing an extended space between them in precaution against Mikari's angry eyes and knife-armed hand. Not that either thought Mikari likely to hurt him–but each had done uncharacteristically crazy things because of jealousy before. One could never know.

"What's for dinner?" Misaki asked nervously, trying to fill the sullen silence emanating from Mikari. For a moment, it seemed that Mikari would keep chopping and ignore the question, but then he turned in their direction, an artificial smile plastered across his face.

"Chili," Mikari answered, the tightness of his voice evident despite the pleasant tone he affected.

Misaki turned back to resume editing with Ijuuin, wishing he hadn't asked the question. Ijuuin, sitting beside him, hadn't even turned around, his eyes fixed on the page in front of them. Misaki knew that look–it was the one he wore on his face at times when he knew he had angered Usagi and was anxiously focusing with laser-like concentration on anything else, desperate to avoid the cutting force of the man's sharp purple eyes. But he also knew he wouldn't have worn that paralyzed look unless he cared about making Usagi happy with him, which meant Ijuuin cared how Mikari was feeling towards him. Mikari, though, didn't seem to think the author cared much at all. That state of affairs couldn't last long, the green-eyed man thought.

So when Mikari set the chili to stew, violently twisting the dial of the timer, and stalked onto Ijuuin's balcony, he let the mangaka go after him. They were in the middle of a page, arguing in whispered voices (they were afraid being louder would make Mikari snap at them to quiet down) over a point Misaki insisted had to go when the sound of the black-haired boy's footsteps passed behind them. The brunet looked up as Ijuuin's remark died in the author's throat and watched the man glance over at Mikari, forsaking subtly in his concern.

"Can I?" he asked his editor, and Misaki nodded, giving the man permission to leave their editing session. Ijuuin got to his feet, following the younger man out onto the balcony.

When he emerged into the cool night air, Mikari was leaning against the railing, smoking. He approached the boy delicately, concerned his arrival would only precipitate Mikari's return inside the apartment.

"Mikari?" he asked, leaning onto the railing a short distance away from his friend.

When the boy turned to him, his eyes were tired behind his thick-framed glasses. "Yes, sensei?"

He found himself uncertain what words to choose. It was an unfamiliar feeling to him–he had always been described as silver-tongued (if sometimes with disdain)–and he kept silent for a moment, mulling over various phrases in his head, trying to select the right one.

"Should I have told him to leave?" he finally asked.

"It's fine," Mikari told him, looking away.

 _Obviously it's not fine_ , Ijuuin thought. He'd made the wrong decision again. It seemed to be his track record with this boy.

"I understand," Mikari continued emotionlessly, "you work with him, hell, you like him." His tone made it clear he wasn't talking about _as friends_.

"Mikari–"  
"Don't bother," the black-haired boy interrupted him. "I don't want to hear you deny what I can see right in front of me." Taking a long drag of his cigarette, he glanced over at the author, dark eyes locking with ocean blue ones. "Just tell me you didn't forget our dinner was tonight."

"Of course not," Ijuuin assured him, the words coming easily now. "I… he came over earlier to bug me about a chapter I wasn't done with, and somehow it transformed into a critique of the whole volume. I lost track of time. I… I would have told him to go if I'd realized the time."

He could tell from the look in Mikari's eyes that the boy was trapped between believing and disregarding him, love and doubt conflicting within his mind. Hoping, he put on his best _please believe me_ face, then, when Mikari smiled an almost invisible smile and looked away, he caught himself. What was he doing? Hadn't he resolved not to lead the boy on? It was true what he had said, he _had_ lost track of time, but that wasn't the point. The fact remained that he, Ijuuin Kyo, was functionally begging his friend-slash-chef to forgive him for something that could hardly even be considered rude, especially in the circumstances. And he'd been _delighted_ to see that forgiving little smile. _Delighted_. What was his problem?

"I'm going back in, okay?" he said, deciding his best course of action was to remove himself from the situation. Mikari nodded, still gazing down at the city below them.

Re-entering the apartment, he caught Misaki watching for him out of the corner of his eyes and noted the intently eavesdropping expression the brunet wore in the split second before he saw the author watching him and changed his features to show only mild interest. When he rejoined his editor at the low table, though, the man respectfully said nothing, only returning to his explanation of what in that section should be changed and why.

Focused though he was on the manga before them, Misaki still made time to mark Ijuuin's reaction when Mikari came back into the apartment. The mangaka's eyes flickered away from the manuscript to flash towards the black-haired boy and he tensed up for the briefest of moments, shifting unconsciously and infinitesimally away from his editor.

Then Mikari was calling out to them that the chili was finished and they joined him around the steaming pot at the dining table.

"What splendors lie in store for us tonight?" Ijuuin asked, feeling awkward as soon as he heard the dangerously flirtatious tone of his voice. He noticed Mikari subtly bite his lip at the corner of his mouth–so he'd felt it too.

"My special amalgamated chili has three types of beans, four types of peppers, onion, garlic, carrot, tomato, and ground beef. And chili powder, of course," Mikari announced, his mock-boastful tone throwing off the awkward air.

Misaki swallowed a remark about how Usagi wouldn't like the green peppers in it, sensing his boyfriend wouldn't be a welcome topic of conversation for either of his dinner-mates, and took a bite of the chili.

"Ah! That's hot!" he exclaimed suddenly, his tastebuds surprised as they registered the spicy flavor of the dish.

Mikari smiled capriciously, his first real smile of the evening. "Did I mention three of the four types of peppers are hot peppers?"

Luckily, his smile was infectious, and soon all three men were smiling and eating, joking about the spiciness of the chili and sharing stories about the spiciest foods they had eaten. Mikari told Misaki about his Korean ex-boyfriend, who had introduced him to the wonders of extraordinarily and yet deliciously spicy food. Misaki, in turn, returned the favor by telling of his brother Takahiro's strange habit of randomly eating tteokbokki on winter's coldest days in a misguided attempt to keep warm. The revelation had them all laughing, and Mikari even suggested they eat again together so he could make them a fantastically spicy Korean spread. Ijuuin, one part of his mind removed from the dinner discussion, was relieved–they had started out so wrong-footedly he had been worried the frigid atmosphere would persist through dinner and prevent them all from enjoying the food. But the food, it seemed, was determined to be enjoyed.

Soon enough, they were finished, and Misaki and Mikari strolled into the elevator together, reminiscing about exquisite meals of times gone by. Ijuuin languidly washed the dishes, his hands resisting the chore with every scrub of the brush, but knowing if he left them now he'd leave them to crust in the sink forever. When he was done, he went to put the leftovers into the refrigerator, which was when he saw it.

A bag full of chocolates.

And with them, a note: _Careful, they're hot too_. Signed with the smallest of hearts.

 _Oh no_ , Ijuuin thought.


	20. Not Hungry

A/N: Don't own JJR. Thanks for reading and enjoy chapter twenty.

Chapter Twenty: Not Hungry

When Fujikage saw Mikari the next afternoon at their usual lunch meet-up, she could tell the boy was sulking the instant she saw his face. His jaw was set, he seemed exhausted, and the spark that usually lived in his eyes was absent from its dark abode. When he saw her he barely acknowledged her, eschewing his typical friendly wave for a curt nod. Even if it hadn't been written over every inch of his sullen expression, though, she would have been able to tell his poor mood easily by the way he ordered his lunch. The black-haired boy had been delighted to see the menu's variety the first day they had come into the cafeteria, vowing to eat every dish on the menu at least once, and even when he was tired he would take special care to select the day's noon meal. Today, however, he spared only a brief glance at the display board before shortly selecting the vegetarian donburi bowl.

So, when they sat down, she decided to question him on his ill mood. She already had an inkling of the source of the problem–it was Thursday, after all–but she wanted to hear for herself what had happened.

"So…?" She pressed, apprehensive.

He put a meager half a mouthful of rice into his mouth broodingly, eating it without tasting it, and she had to force herself not to snap at him to tell her what was wrong. That, she could sense, would only push him away from her.

They sat there in silence, as he chewed a few pieces of bok choy listlessly in the time it took her to eat her entire meal of gyoza. Finally, he sighed and pushed away the bowl only half eaten.

"I wasn't the only one at dinner last night," he began. Fujikage's eyebrow, already halfway up her forehead in surprise that Mikari of all people wouldn't finish his meal, continued its gradually accelerating journey up her forehead. "Misaki was there too."

Fujikage's breath hissed as she drew it in through her teeth. She and Mikari were best friends, so she had heard everything about the glasses-clad boy's quest for Ijuuin's heart, including an account of the brown-haired man who was its biggest obstacle. Misaki, it seemed, didn't give the mangaka any cause to believe he would ever change his affections from his grey-haired author boyfriend, but because he was the Ijuuin's editor the two spent a substantial amount of time working together. The close contact, added to the way Misaki couldn't help fanboying over the man who had written his favorite manga, kept Ijuuin from being able to take his rejection seriously. Mikari had been worried from the beginning that Ijuuin's heart was stubbornly fixed to Misaki, and now he seemed to have found the proof he had dreaded.

"Apparently they had been working and lost track of time," Mikari added, sounding depressed. "He obviously didn't want Misaki to leave, and I didn't have the heart to make a big deal out of it, so he stayed for dinner."

Fujikage wondered how true the statement "he obviously didn't want Misaki to leave" was and how much was Mikari gloomily reading too much into it. Although she doubted her friend would appreciate if she mentioned it, she could see a situation where Ijuuin and Misaki simply felt too awkward in the face of their jealous, sullen teenage guest to agree on Misaki's going and ended up leaving things as is.

"What did you make, anyway?" she asked, hoping to take his mind of his green-eyed rival.

"Chili," he replied listlessly–her tactic hadn't worked. She sighed and reluctantly returned to Mikari's preferred topic of conversation.

"So how did it go? Misaki being there, I mean."

Mikari chewed his lip a few seconds, then grudgingly admitted, "Okay, it wasn't that bad. I had a smoke on the balcony while the food was cooking, so that helped me calm myself down a bit. And once we started talking about spicy food the atmosphere normalized a bit."

"What did he say about your chocolates?"

As soon as the words left her lips Mikari's face darkened and her heart sunk: she'd hit upon the very topic she should most carefully have avoided. The black-haired boy had been teeming with excitement over the special hot pepper chocolates he'd handmade for Ijuuin just yesterday. Apparently they'd been something he'd invented specially to cater to his Korean ex-boyfriend's yen for spicy food, and he had been dying for the opportunity to give them to his new love interest. Misaki's appearance at the previous night's dinner had killed that idea, evidently.

"I didn't have the opportunity to give them to him in person," he growled, grinding his teeth bad-temperedly. "Not with _him_ there."

She was searching for something to say to diffuse the newly thick tension mention of Mikari's specialty hot pepper-infused chocolates had created when the black-haired boy's phone suddenly rang. He snatched it up from where it lay on the table, scowling dangerously when he saw the caller ID.

"Speak of the devil," he glowered. But before taking the call he arranged his expression into something verging on amiable, veiling his irritation. She could tell he was fighting a difficult battle to keep himself from resenting his green-eyed friend-slash-love rival for Ijuuin's interest.

"Hello, Misaki?"

Fujikage couldn't hear what the brunet replied, but Mikari quickly said, "No, no, I can talk, we're at lunch," so she assumed he'd been concerned he'd caught the university student in class or studying the library. It was strange–he'd called Mikari before at this time and hadn't been concerned then. She guessed he was walking on eggshells around the younger man, knowing he'd angered him the previous night.

As she thought it, Mikari's face quirked in surprise, and she wondered what the green-eyed man had said now.

"No," he replied hesitantly, "why do you ask?"

A few seconds later, he added, "I…" and a pensive expression came over his features. He looked over at Fujikage, his brow furrowing as he dove deep into thought. Soon, a devious light crept over his features and the left edge of his mouth curved up into a wicked smile. When he spoke, Fujikage was utterly unprepared for what he said. "Can I bring a friend?"

The words clearly mystified Misaki as much as they had her, for there was silence for quite some time. Then Mikari rolled his eyes and set his jaw into an angry scowl, saying, "Yes, of course she's trustworthy, she's my _friend_."

There was another silence, but finally he must have agreed, because Mikari's smile returned and he replied, "Great! What time should we be there?"

A moment later he hung up, then grinned at Fujikage. "How do you feel about having dinner with your favorite author?"


	21. Fangirl

A/N: Don't own JJR. Thank you for continuing to read and I hope you enjoy chapter twenty-one.

Chapter Twenty-One: Fangirl

Fujikage Kikue had been expecting the luxurious spaciousness of Usami Akihiko's penthouse, but she certainly hadn't expected the giant teddy bear sitting on the couch.

When Mikari had told Fujikage she was getting the unheard of chance to dine with her favorite author, she had sat there staring at him for a long time, unable to believe it was really happening. Even though she'd heard the conversation herself–at least, Mikari's half–and knew from her best friend's testimony that his green-eyed rival lived with _the_ Usami Akihiko, she still had a hard time getting her head around it. She, who for a middle school assignment had set Usami Akihiko at the table of five people who would constitute her dream dinner party, was actually going to meet the author? Actually get to talk to him, to eat with him, in his own home? It was the chance of a lifetime.

So when Mikari swung by Fujikage's dorm later that day to pick her up, he found her wearing an elegant dress. He himself was wearing a simple sweater and pants.

"Tone it down," he complained, mentally comparing their attire. "This is a casual affair."

"Fine," she replied, "this dress is kind of uncomfortable anyway. It's just… I'm not sure what to wear to meet my favorite author."

Mikari, hearing the nerves in her voice, smirked and commented, "Fangirl much?"

She scowled good-humoredly and retreated to her bedroom. Mikari, kicking off his shoes, followed her. It was the first time he had been at her place–they had always hung out in the library or campus café before. Her room was simple: neatly made bed and notebook-strew desk, nightstand stacked with books. On the wall opposite the door hung an anime poster; he recognized the name from their previous conversations. As she dug in her closet trying to come up with appropriate clothes, he tried to remember where she was from. It wasn't Tokyo–that much was clear from her habitation in the dorms. He wasn't sure, but he thought she had mentioned it was somewhere in Kyushu.

"Fujikage, where are you from again?" he asked her, his eyes politely averted as she changed.

"Nagasaki," she casually responded, pulling on thigh-high socks. "How's this?"

He turned to see her wearing a short skirt, thigh-high socks and a loose sweater. Much more like the Fujikage he was used to.

"Much better," he replied, and the two left her dorm, heading towards Misaki's apartment.

Fujikage fidgeted with the hem of her skirt as the rode up in the elevator, wondering what she would say to Usami. She wanted to make a good impression on him, but she knew from his few interviews that he was notoriously hard to please. If she could just get him to understand how much his work had influenced her, she thought, everything would flow smoothly from there.

A smiling Misaki opened the door. "Welcome back, Mikari!" Then the green-eyed man turned to her saying, "I'm Takahashi Misaki. Pleased to meet you."

She took the opportunity to study him. So this man was her best friend's rival for Ijuuin's affections. She could understand why: he was handsome and youthful, his exuberance radiating from large green eyes. Even the way his hair flopped around his ears was somewhat charming. It made sense, especially considering how closely they worked together, that Ijuuin could be in love with him–Mikari would have his work cut out for him. He was lucky Misaki wasn't interested in the dark blue-eyed mangaka; at least the green-eyed man's unwillingness to return Ijuuin's feelings would work in his favor.

"I'm Fujikage Kikue," she introduced herself, adding, "I'm a friend of Aikawa's from school."

"My best friend," Mikari clarified, mentioning, "She's a big fan of your boyfriend's, so I thought she might like to come tonight."

Fujikage nodded, confirming his statement. She carefully watched Misaki, noting he winced a little at the word "boyfriend". _So they haven't made their relationship public_ , she thought.

The brunet recovered quickly, though, turning and calling out, "Usagi-san! They're here!"

She started at the nickname, and had just recovered from her shock when Usami Akihiko strolled into view. He was recognizable from his pictures, but even then it would have been hard to mistake the tall, grey-haired, violet-eyed author for anyone else.

"Aikawa-kun, good evening," he greeted Mikari, and then turned to her.

"I'm Fujikage Kikue," she repeated her introduction. "I'm a friend of Aikawa's from school, and a big fan of your work, Sensei."

The grey-haired author's lips quirked into a smirk, and he motioned to the two guests to come into the main room. Mikari and Misaki went immediately to the kitchen, discussing the night's fare, and Usami sat down on the couch. Which was when she noticed the giant teddy bear resting beside him and her eyebrows shot up.

The author's dastardly smirk widened at her expression. "Like him? This is Suzuki-san." He patted a hand atop the bear's head. She stared for a few more moments, then he added, "Not what you expected, hm?"

Fujikage nodded, forced to admit it was not what she had expected.

"I've got a whole collection upstairs," he told her, rising to his feet, and she followed him up to a room filled with childish toys. Next, he showed her his office: just as she had expected, it was filled with books. She spent a few minutes inspecting the titles, commenting on a few of her non-Usami favorites he owned.

"We'd better head back down," she ruefully said when she had completed a precursory examination. She wanted to stay longer, look over every book her idol-author possessed, but she was worried what Mikari and Misaki might be saying to each other in their absence.

As it was, she was right to be concerned. When they emerged from Usami's office, there was the sound of heated discussion from below, and both silently agreed to eavesdrop, creeping noiselessly down the stairs.

"Then you should have just asked me to leave, if it bothered you so much!" Misaki argued.

"Why did you have to be there in the first place?" grumbled Mikari, sulking. "Why on a Wednesday of all days?"

"Well excuse me for not knowing it was your _date_ night!"

Mikari growled, his hands clenching into fists.

"It's not you," he conceded in a dangerously lowered voice. " _He_ should have known. But he doesn't care, because the only one he cares about is _you_." His voice was heavy with bitterness as he spat the last word, loath to admit he had lost in the competition for Ijuuin's love before he had ever fought in it.

Usami tensed beside Fujikage, relaxing only when his boyfriend insisted, "I'm not trying to _make_ him like me, for God's sake. I wish he'd stop."

"Besides," he added, narrowing his eyes at the younger man, "didn't I tell you to watch yourself around him? Because that doesn't seem to be what you're doing."

Mikari scowled and huffed. "Watch myself around him?" he retorted sarcastically under his breath. Then, to the surprise of all the listeners, he repeated the words he'd said the previous week. Now, though, they weren't hidden by the scream of a kettle, but exposed, although by his low tone it was clear he didn't mean them to be. "Like that would make him fall for me."

Shocked silence followed his words. Fujikage, on the stairwell, was surprised he would have said the words out loud in such company, and she could tell by the frozen, mouth-hanging-open expression of pure stupefaction on Usami's face he was even more aghast at the bombshell. He would have had no idea Mikari was after Ijuuin, she rationalized, remarking to herself how unlike his typical superior self he looked when blown away by a revelation. Misaki, downstairs, had a similarly dumbstruck look on his features–he would have known there was something going on between Ijuuin and Mikari, but obviously hadn't been aware of just how serious Mikari was about it. He had probably just assumed Mikari was a fellow fan of Ijuuin's who had taken the opportunity presented by his good cooking skills and tentative connection with the mangaka to spend more time with a favorite author.

None of them were as shocked to hear the confession come out of the black-haired man's mouth than he himself. As soon as he realized what he'd done his face went white, quickly transforming to red as he blushed furiously. Mikari's eyes wide, Fujikage could see he had forgotten to breath. His hands came up to cover his mouth, a look of embarrassed horror on his face. Then he turned on his heel and stormed out onto the balcony, yanking a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket as he did so.

As soon as he left, Misaki and Usami exchanged a look of astonished telepathy, the older man mentally asking his boyfriend if he'd known about this and Misaki admitting he hadn't guessed. The grey-haired man and the girl standing beside him rapidly made their way down the steps, heading into an impromptu meeting on the sofa.

"I'm not the only one who heard that, right?" Misaki asked in a heated whisper. Two sharp nods confirmed they had seen it too.

Green eyes turned to Fujikage's brown ones. "You're his best friend, right?" He stopped, confusing clouding his vision, and awkwardly asked, "I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

"Fujikage," she supplied.

"Thanks. Fujikage, did you expect that?"

Fujikage looked solemn. "His feelings, yes. But not that he'd say something about them."

"How long has this been going on?"

She frowned, remembering. "As long as I've known him, I think."

Usami broke in suddenly, "Wait, that little kid is in love with that annoying pencil scratcher?"

Fujikage chuckled. "Don't let him hear you say that."

Usami smiled grimly. From what Mikari had told her of the dynamic between Ijuuin, Misaki, and Usami, Fujikage could guess what was going through his head. He had wanted Ijuuin to stop paying so much unwelcome attention to his trusting boyfriend, and here was the perfect thing to distract him. She stored the realization away in her brain, thinking he might be a useful ally for Mikari's cause down the line.

"Actually, I'd better go get him," she said, standing up. "Can't leave him sulking out there for too long."

She rose and wandered towards the balcony, sliding open the door. Just as she had expected, Mikari was standing at the edge, leaning on the concrete wall and smoking. Eyeing him, she could tell the tension was at least partially dispelled from the way he lounged easily over the railing. But he was doubtlessly still stuck in his thoughts: it was his manner. She stepped out, sliding the door smoothly shut behind her.

"Hey, you okay?"

He turned, and she could see the somber, dispirited expression on his face. For the second time that day, she reflected to herself that he looked exhausted, and she wondered how much of the night he'd stayed up, wracked by wave after wave of self-reinforcing pessimistic thoughts. But he only bit his lip and sighed, pressing his eyes closed.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he released, opening his eyes again and dispersing the despondent look that had clouded his features.

Her mouth quirked into a sad smile–it was no satisfaction to see her friend melancholic like this.

"You sure?" Looking into his eyes, she could see the depression that had draped over his face was now distilled within their depths. He wasn't recovered–he was just trying to hide his unhappiness behind a curtain of false cheer. Catching her watching him, he matched his expression to her own, nodding a certainty he could bear on despite his hopelessness.

"Come on, then," she told him, and he tossed the cigarette to the ground, grinding it out with his heel. Taking one last look at the view, he followed her back into the apartment.

There, Misaki and Usami were standing in the kitchen, pretending they hadn't been waiting for the two of them to return. The brunet was chopping something, the violet-eyed man leaning against the opposite counter chatting nonchalantly with him. Both turned when the two friends re-entered the apartment, minutely assessing the look on Mikari's face. They seemed to find it acceptable, because they turned and resumed their respective activities.

"Dinner will be soon," Misaki told his guests, starting up the wok he'd placed on the stovetop.

Shortly after, they sat down to eat, and Fujikage struck up a conversation with Usami about his latest book. This was what she had been waiting for, the chance to discuss her favorite books with their author–the dream of any fangirl. Misaki and Mikari took the opportunity to start their own conversation about favorite books, and though Ijuuin came up (both were devout fans of _The Kan_ , after all), they managed to speak about him in a manner removed from their respective emotional states towards the mangaka. When the meal was eaten, they talked for a while longer while Mikari and Usami smoked, tipping their embers into the author's eccentrically panda-shaped ashtray. Then, too soon for Fujikage's tastes, they were leaving. As they did, she carefully watched her friend wave goodbye to their hosts. Mikari might seem friendly with Misaki now, while they were together, but she worried with things as they were between the two and Ijuuin, it might make Mikari see reflected in his friend's green eyes those of the green-eyed monster: jealousy.


	22. Interrogation

A/N: Don't own JJR. Thanks for continuing to read and a special thanks to Charm XD for reviewing. I hope you enjoy chapter twenty-two!

Chapter Twenty-Two: Interrogation

 _I wish there really was such thing as a love potion_ , Mikari thought to himself.

He was standing in front of the seafood counter at the supermarket he frequented, buying food for his and Aikawa's dinner that night, but his mind was still embroiled with that Wednesday's dinner incident. Distracted, he had already put the wrong kind of rice in his basket, finding out only when he placed a bottle of mirin in the basket a few aisles over. He'd had to go back and exchange the two, wondering how he'd managed to be so airheaded. But the cause of his aimless supermarket wandering was clear: he was thinking about Ijuuin. Every time he came to the supermarket, his brain would automatically switch over from whatever thought track it had been on to daydreaming about cooking strangely delicious and inventively brilliant new dishes for the ocean-eyed man. When he wasn't forcing himself to focus on his schoolwork or cooking (he hadn't burned a dish yet, and he wasn't going to) his mind would drift off and imagine scenes of Ijuuin. The two of them cooking together, strolling down the beach or along the winding paths of the botanical garden at Tateyama. Ijuuin lounging on his couch watching him chop up vegetables or sketching the horizon view sitting on the front steps of the onsen. His eyes had memorized every detail of the author's portrait, the different curves of his fingers as he held a pen or chopsticks, the maddeningly sly smile he seemed to wear whenever he looked at Mikari, the vaguely embarrassed look that crept across his face when he was forced to admit his relative lack of skill at cooking despite the impression of mastery his manga gave.

"Sir?" A hesitant voice interrupted him: the worker standing behind the seafood counter. "Did you want peeled or unpeeled shrimp?"

"Hmm?" Mikari asked, looking up–he couldn't remember having asked for shrimp in the first place. It was on the list of things to buy tonight, though, so he must have. "Unpeeled, I'll peel them myself," he decided.

"Right away, sir," the employee responded quickly, glad to get out from under the glazed eyes of his obviously preoccupied customer.

When he finally selected all of the ingredients he had come intending to buy (and, accidentally, some he hadn't), he was surprised to discover at checkout he had failed to bring his shopping bags. Cursing internally, he obediently shelled out for the ugly plastic bags the supermarket offered for sale to those either too forgetful or too overburdened. Slinging the bright green bag loudly advertising the dual economic and environmental wisdom of using reusable bags over his shoulder, he shuffled abashedly back to the train station and made his way back to his cousin's apartment.

When he pushed open the door, calling out, "Tadaima", Aikawa was sitting at the low table in the main room, red-marking another manuscript. Since he had arrived she had taken to bringing her work home in lieu of spending long hours in the office after typical working hours were over. She waved, returning his greeting, and bent her head back back over the already redlined document that lay in front of her.

Mikari made his way into the kitchen, his home turf. Some interval of chopping, peeling, searing, simmering, and stewing later, he reemerged carrying plates of shrimp curry over rice.

"Smells good," Aikawa commented, some variation of which was her daily reaction to his meals. She cleared her papers out of the way and Mikari set one of the plates down before her, seating himself opposite. Exchanging her red pen for her red chopsticks, she took a bite, her face brightening as she tasted the flavors he'd created.

"Wow!" She exclaimed. "You never cease to amaze me, Mikari. Maybe it's just such contrast to the convenience store bentos I used to eat before you came, but I doubt it–this is the real deal." She shoveled a few more morsels into her mouth before teasingly adding, "I bet the stuff you cook for Ijuuin is ten times better, though."

Mikari saw his opening and leapt for it. "Cousin," he asked, "what do you think of him? Ijuuin-sensei, I mean."

Aikawa stopped wolfing down her food, her eyebrows making their way towards her hairline.

"Well," she said carefully, "he's certainly a talented mangaka. Been turning out quality content since he was in high school. But that's not really what you're asking about, are you?"

Mikari made the face one makes when rolling one's eyes without actually rolling his eyes.

His cousin's smile tugged at the edge of her face. "My opinion of him as a person, then?"

She put a piece of shrimp in her mouth and chewed slowly and thoughtfully. Across from her, the look of vexation on Mikari's face intensified.

She stayed pensively silent long enough her opposite could remain so no longer.

"You said something before suggesting I should take care around him…?" he prompted.

The light of realization illuminated her face. "Ah, yes!" She cleared her throat somewhat hesitantly. "What do you know of his… _relationship_ with Misaki?"

Mikari's vision went white, his breath short in coming. "I thought he didn't have a relationship with Misaki," he gasped out.

"Not for lack of trying," Aikawa said, mutely observing his reaction and adding it to her mental tome of accumulated information on her cousin. "He's got quite an extensive catalog of attempts to win Misaki over, and finding out Misaki was already spoken for–and by someone as territorial and jealous as Akihiko–didn't do a thing to change that."

"What kind of attempts?" Mikari pressed, hoping to get more on the subject from her than he had Misaki himself.

She looked up at the ceiling, thinking back.

"Well, he made Misaki his new sub-editor, invites him over to his apartment for their editing sessions, and flirts with him as often as he talks to him. I've lost count of the number of times Misaki's told me he's asked him out. And there was that time in Kamakura, of course."

Mikari mentally checked her words against what Misaki had told him, comparing their accounts. _I already knew about the whole sub-editor thing and I've seen Misaki at the apartment for an editing session just this week. Flirting as easy as breathing–well that's obvious. And Misaki mentioned Sensei kept trying to get him to go on a date…_

His mind stopped, hitting up against an error. There was one new item in the list: _that time in Kamakura, of course_. Dreading the answer, he asked, "Kamakura?"

A peculiar look came over his cousin's face as if a cloud covered her expression. "Ah, right," she said, "You wouldn't know." She paused, seeming hesitant to reveal what she knew. A slow sigh breathed its way out of her mouth before she relented. "It was after Kamakura that Ijuuin started to get serious about pursuing Misaki."

Mikari's blood stilled in its passage through his veins and arteries, his heart waiting to hear her next words before daring to beat.

"Misaki and Akihiko had gone to Kamakura to celebrate Misaki's twenty-second birthday, and Ijuuin, not-so-coincidentally, was there doing research for his manga. Somehow he'd found out Misaki was going to be there–Misaki must have told him without thinking about it–and he followed him, intending to convince Misaki to go out on a date with him. He wanted Misaki to give himself a chance to fall in love with him, or so I've heard. Of course, Misaki wasn't about to do that, already having someone he loved in his life, so he turned down Ijuuin's confession, telling him point blank a relationship between the two of them could never happen."

She paused, and Mikari leaned forward, his eyes begging her to continue.

"They thought that was the end of that, but a few days later, Kirishima, Ijuuin's lead editor, told Misaki Ijuuin had suddenly specifically asked he be made his new sub-editor. When Misaki went to ask him about it, Ijuuin told him it was because he believed in his editing capabilities, but he practically admitted it was mostly because he wanted them to spend more time together. Kept saying it was important for them to get to know each other first, whatever that was supposed to mean. Then he'd always insist they do their editing at his apartment instead of having them meet at Marukawa so they'd be guaranteed to be alone together. I suppose what with my work relationship with Akihiko it might not seem odd for an author and his editor to meet at the author's residence, but it's far from the norm. Misaki's experience with the way editors operated wasn't much broader, but he knew something wasn't right. Ijuuin would always try to get him to stay for dinner–"

A stab pierced Mikari's heart as he again remembered the Wednesday night dinner disaster.

"–or get closer to him than was necessary for editing the manuscripts. Akihiko loathed it, naturally, and his work suffered as a result," she scoffed at the memory, "but he had to trust Misaki would stay true to him, and since it was his job, what could Misaki do but keep discouraging Ijuuin and rebuffing him as often as he made advances?"

Aikawa sighed, exhausted by the remembrance of the many times she had had to assuage

Usami's raging jealousy or calm Misaki's surging anxiety. The two had managed to get past the mangaka's unwelcome attentions, reaffirming their conviction to each other, but she could tell it still troubled them. Now, she could see there was another who was troubled by Ijuuin's obsession with Misaki.

"He's pretty much been the same since–" she began.

Mikari gritted his teeth angrily; he had long since abandoned his meal. A deep scowl stretched itself across his face, his eyes set in dark animosity. The stream of jealousy surging within him had swelled to the point that he was unable to think of anything else. Even the friendly feelings he felt for Misaki were swallowed by his wild envy; he was unable to think of the green-eyed man as anything other than a rival for Ijuuin's affections. Irritated by his perception of his own inability to do anything to sway Ijuuin's heart, he pushed himself violently away from the table and stood up, gathering his plate.

"–but he's been a bit better recently: the focus of his attention doesn't seem to be concentrated on Misaki anymore, though," Aikawa continued, concerned at her cousin's ominously resentful visage. Mikari, however, didn't hear her; he was already making a swift retreat to sulk in the kitchen. Even if he had been paying attention, he would have doubtfully dismissed her words, so immersed was he in his precipitous descent into the depths of jealousy.


	23. Coffee and Cigarettes

A/N: Don't own JJR. Thanks for reading and thanks again to Charm XD for reviewing, it means a lot. Please enjoy chapter twenty-three!

Chapter Twenty-Three: Coffee and Cigarettes

Saturday, Mikari woke up late, as was his custom. For an overly long moment, he lay still in bed, completing his weekend morning ritual of cursing the sun for rising so early when he had stayed up so late the night before. Even with his eyes closed, though, he couldn't ignore the tardiness of the hour and so, his face distorting into a huge yawn, he drowsily rolled out from under his blanket and somehow managed to orient himself into a standing position beside his bed.

One thought came paramount to his mind: _coffee_. He made his shambling way into the kitchen, opened the cupboard and came to the sudden and intensely unwelcome realization that in his general preoccupied state the previous two days he had forgotten to replace his invaluable stores of coffee grounds. Swearing under his breath, he made his way back into his bedroom; it seemed he had to go out and buy coffee while his mind was still impaired by its lack.

 _Ugh_ , he thought, haphazardly yanking on a pair of pants, _I'll just go to that one twenty-four hour shop and then stop by the store and buy grounds once I have the necessary cup of wakefulness in me._ He stuffed his wallet into his pants pocket and left the apartment, locking the door behind him. Aikawa, it seemed, had already left, joining the land of the living at a time more befitting a working adult, even for a Saturday.

He was far from the only out and about; in fact, the streets were bustling with men, women, and children on their way to their weekend pastimes. The sky was an ethereally pale gray, the sort of overcast day one would scarcely call cloudy except for the lack of blue above. Mikari was glad there was some cover for the sun's bright rays–he didn't think his eyes could have stood the piercing light. Making his way down the street, he soon arrived at his usual twenty-four hour coffee shop. He had discovered the shop a few days after his arrival and the owner's carefully brewed beverages were now favorites of he and Fujikage alike. With its retro neon coffee-cup sign and dim, smooth-jazz playing interior, it reminded him of his preferred shop back in Vancouver before it had unceremoniously and without warning closed a few weeks before he had met Jun-sae. It had been comforting to find a place so reminiscent of home here in the heart of Tokyo: he wasn't immune to the occasional bout of homesickness and especially hadn't been during his first few days back in Japan.

The neon curls of smoke jumped up and down on the glowing sign out front as Mikari approached and his tired brain watched them lethargically for a few protracted moments until it remembered the nature of his quest. The black-haired boy gently pushed opened the door, the miniature bell attached to the top corner ringing a soft chime to announce his presence. A familiar barista stood behind the counter.

"Welcome to Black Coffee, miss, may I take your order?" The sardonically grinning man said. Mikari rolled his eyes at the greeting–Nakata knew well that he was male, he was only continuing the joke that had been started the day they met when he, like so many others, had mistaken the black-haired boy for a girl. The barista knew the feeling of being mistaken for the opposite gender; after all, his long hair had made him the target of many an erroneous _miss_ before he had grown so tall he was no longer imagined to be female.

Against his better judgement, Mikari let out an enormous yawn. "Morning, Nakata."

"Hello, Aikawa-chan," Nakata replied. "Not feeling too chipper this morning?"

"A purchasing oversight may have been made," Mikari ruefully admitted.

The tall man held back a chuckle, hiding it under his breath. "Shall we rectify that? The usual, plus, say, an extra shot of espresso?"

Mikari made an exhausted sound of assent, and Nakata began brewing a mocha, the boy's favorite drink. While he did so, Mikari slumped over to one of the deep leather armchairs at the receiving end of the counter and collapsed into it. He had dozed off lightly by the time Nakata had finished making his drink, making the barista call his name in order to rouse him.

"Aikawa Mikari! Rise and shine for a mocha with extra espresso!"

Somewhere in the shadowy light of the coffee shop, a brown-haired man pulled his face away from the papers he had been gazing at and two ocean-blue eyes turned towards the sound of the young man's name.

Hearing his name and beverage of choice mentioned in the same phrase, Mikari dragged himself out of his fitful rest and rose to his feet, taking the steaming mug from Nakata's offering hand. He breathed the scent deeply into his lungs and imbibed a substantial swallow of the caffeinated liquid.

"Ah, hot!" he exclaimed the moment the heated drink made contact with his tongue.

Again the barista had to stifle a laugh. "It always is," he said.

Pursing his lips, Mikari blew on the coffee, willing it to cool so he could continue his caffeine consumption. He drank again, his tongue burnt but the wheels of his mind beginning to turn thanks to the hot beverage.

He had just begun to fully recover himself when he heard a voice behind him.

"Mikari?" It was a familiar voice, and at its dulcet tones Mikari suddenly found himself encountering the utterly unique experience of having his heart both jump and sink simultaneously. He closed his eyes, sighed, and turned to face the man he both desired to see and wished to avoid.

The man was, of course, Ijuuin Kyo, who stood in the dim light of Black Coffee looking more handsome than ever. He wore a long-sleeved button-up shirt of a blue that matched his eyes, unbuttoned such that his collarbones were exposed. Mikari found himself staring at the hollow of the author's throat, unable to tear his eyes away.

"Mikari?" Ijuuin asked again, looking at him with a peculiar expression on his face. The black-haired boy finally wrenched his eyes away from Ijuuin's exposed skin only to find he had automatically set his cup on the counter and taken the pack of cigarettes from his pocket. His hands had reached unconsciously for that which had calmed him in the past, and seeing what he had already done he completed the action, taking out a cigarette from the pack and inserting it into his mouth. Taking his lighter out of his pocket, he flicked it, illuminating the end of the cigarette, and breathed in the nicotine as deeply as he had the smell of the freshly-brewed coffee Nakata had delivered.

"Sensei," he replied finally.

A pair of sea-blue eyes had traced the every motion of his thin fingers.

"Can I have one of those?" Ijuuin asked.

"Hmm?" Mikari looked from Ijuuin's whirlpool eyes to his outstretched hand, processing what he had inquired. "Yeah, sure." He shook another cigarette out of his pack and passed it to the mangaka obligingly. As out of it as Ijuuin's presence had made him, he scarcely reacted when Ijuuin bent his head close, lighting his cigarette by means of the tip of Mikari's own in what he had called a cigarette kiss.

"Come over to my table," Ijuuin told Mikari, explaining he'd come to the shop to work on his manga. He'd gotten stuck in his writing and decided the combination of caffeine and change of scenery should help unblock him, and so far, it seemed to be working.

The two sat down together at Ijuuin's table and the mangaka showed the boy the storyboard he had completed so far.

"I think I've almost got it," the brown-haired man said, excitedly sipping on what the empty cups on the table declared was his fourth cup of coffee. He narrowed his eyes, a ponderous look creeping over his features. "There's still something missing, though." He turned to Mikari. "Say, what are you planning to make for our dinner next week? Maybe hearing it will inspire something."

The boy pushed his glasses further up his nose–they had slid down as he bent to look at Ijuuin's manga–and took another long swallow of his mocha.

"Pizza, actually," he told the older man, exchanging his coffee for his cigarette and inhaling a deep breath of nicotine-stained air. "I was planning to make every component from scratch: dough, sauce, toppings and all. Oh, by the way, do you have any specific topping requests?"

"Pizza, huh?" Ijuuin replied, his eyes developing a faraway look as his brain added the dish into his _The Kan_ plot calculations. Realizing the black-haired boy had asked him a question, he quickly added, "No pineapple. That's just not right."

"Naturally."

His mind returning to its distant contemplation, the dark blue-eyed man blew out a long stream of smoke. "Pineapple, hmm. There's an idea."

He picked up his pen and started sketching rapidly. Freed from the inadvertently piercing gaze of aquamarine eyes, Mikari leaned back in his chair, alternating between sips of caffeine and breaths of nicotine. He shuttered his eyes, focusing on the tastes of his two pastimes and letting his mind wander through the mellow sound of the piano and hum of bass from the café's jazz.

A few moments later, when he was just about to surrender to a nap, the scratching of the pen slowed and he heard Ijuuin's voice, low but distinguishable.

"Is he asleep?" the ocean blue-eyed mangaka wondered aloud. "Mika?" Mikari could feel Ijuuin's warm breath on his face and surmised the author must be leaning over the table, bending close to determine if he was awake. But he'd said the nickname–which had the tempo of the boy's heartbeat increasing its already rapid pace–softly, and it clearly hadn't been meant to rouse him had he truly been dozing. Mikari let out a sigh, choosing to pretend he had drifted off.

Ijuuin made a gentle noise in his throat.

"Hmm," he said, "let me…" he trailed off, and Mikari heard the rustle of papers as he exchanged his storyboard for a fresh blank sheet. The sound of scribbling returned, leaving Mikari to wonder what the artist could be drawing now. He dismissed his curiosity: Ijuuin was working, it would be best not to interrupt with his questions.

The black-haired boy stayed in his feigned slumber as long as he dared, only stirring when he felt he was in danger of making the act into a reality. His eyes fluttering open, he yawned and stretched minutely. As his newly opened eyes met Ijuuin's own, he noticed the mangaka's penetrating gaze was locked on his face; it was only for a moment, however, as the deep blue eyes quickly dipped to the page held in the man's hands. The pen rapidly added a few more touches to the sketch before being placed to the side, the notebook closed and returned to its former place beneath the storyboards.

 _So it wasn't work, then_ , Mikari thought. _Or at least not on his current volume_. He again wondered what the mangaka had been drawing, but again dismissed the question.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Ijuuin said teasingly. His characteristic sly smile once again made an appearance on his face and Mikari was unable to keep a light dusting of red from his cheeks. "It's bad manners to sleep in a coffee shop, you know," the man went on. "Negative advertising and so on." But his charming cunning smile only widened, so Mikari knew he was only joking with him.

"I was just resting my eyes," he rejoined, repeating the excuse his father always used when caught drifting off.

Ijuuin chuckled.

"Did the pizza information help?" Mikari pressed on.

The mangaka's face lost its guile and turned thoughtful. "Hmm? Oh, yes," he replied. "Say, speaking of next Wednesday, I might be back a little late. I have a meeting that afternoon in Yokohama with the movie people." He rummaged in his pocket, finally coming up with a piece of gleaming metal. "Here's a key to my apartment," he said, offering the aforementioned item to the boy seated before him. "In case the meeting runs long."

Mikari stared at the offered object, his mind awhirl. What was this supposed to mean? A key to Ijuuin's apartment? Usually, the gesture would have relationship connotations, but he wasn't in a relationship with Ijuuin, as much as he might like to be. He knew what the giving of the key would have meant to him, but with Ijuuin, it was impossible to judge. And the authors of Marukawa seemed to be pretty free with handing out access to their homes, so it could mean nothing. What was he supposed to interpret from this?

He took the key, inspecting it. Its shining metal and jagged edge were no more remarkable than any key, but to him, it was much more than that. It was a symbol of Ijuuin's trust for him, at the very least.

"Ah, thanks," he said awkwardly, pocketing it. "Um, anyway, I should probably be going. I only came out because I had run out of coffee and I wouldn't want to disturb you at your work."

"I don't mind," Ijuuin told him casually, exhaling a stream of smoke. His cigarette was starting to burn down towards the embers; Mikari's was already glowing ash in the ashtray.

"It's okay," the black-haired boy said. "Besides, I have some assignments I should be working on." It wasn't exactly the truth–it was only Saturday and he could have put his work off until the next day–but he was starting to get that unsure of himself feeling that only Ijuuin could inspire. The one where the butterflies in his stomach realized they were trapped and started panicking, fluttering desperately inside the dark cavity. If he stayed any longer, he knew, the butterflies' anxiety, like his own, would rise to a fevered pitch and he'd start feeling that particular kind of nauseous feeling that only came from heightened emotions.

He pushed back his chair and rose to his feet.

"Looking forward to the pizza," Ijuuin told him, the sly grin making a return to his face. Mikari made a sound of assent and ventured a nervous smile, which only made the mangaka's smile widen. He waved a quick goodbye, which the dark blue-eyed man returned, a knowing look in his eyes. Then his back was turned and his feet leading him out onto the street. Pizza, huh? His thumb running over the irregular edge of the key in his pocket, he made a quick note to add the ingredients to his list. If he was going to cook it for Ijuuin, he was going to need to trial run his recipes until they were perfect.


	24. Cigarettes and Coffee

A/N: Don't own JJR. Okay, so how much do we really know about The Kan? Because I feel like it's very little, so I just made it up. Hope that's okay. Anyway, thanks for continuing to read and please enjoy this chapter. It was a pleasure to write.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Cigarettes and Coffee

 _I'm not going to make this deadline unless I do something drastic_ , Ijuuin thought that Saturday morning. He was slumped over the table in his living room, eyes dull and eyelids fluttering dangerously close to shut. Discarded pens in a rainbow of colors and a snowstorm of crumpled balls of paper lay scattered across table and floor alike. Someone inspecting the aftermath would have found vaguely scratchy sketches, sparsely written plotlines, and a variety of both artistic and prosaic representations of his procrastination littered here and there over the smooth hardwood floor. The deep blue-eyed mangaka had spent the past few hours of watching his creativity drain away as he struggled to force anything out onto the still blank pages in front of him, and he was starting to despair of getting anything done that day.

He had gotten up early that morning, throwing open the curtains to his room and wincing regretfully as the harshly burning sunlight scorched into his still-sleeping retinas. Over the previous few days he'd sensed himself slowly slipping into a writing funk and had determined he would make every effort break the pattern that morning. He'd doused himself with cold water to double the effort the sun was making to wake him, instructing himself to focus and not become distracted by extraneous thoughts. He'd even cleaned off his desk: a rarity for someone as inherently messy as he was. Still, it didn't seem as if the measures were doing much good. Even after he'd moved from his desk to the table–hoping the change of place might help refocus him–his productivity was at a standstill.

At Kirishima's urging, he had hinted at a new villain in the last volume, a new protege of The Kan's old nemesis Karai Kyohei, but in truth he had no idea who the new villain was going to be. He hadn't much of any other semblance of a plot drawn out for this deadline either, a depressing fact that only decreased his productiveness further when he thought about it.

Dark blue eyes slid towards shut, and just as Ijuuin was about to drift into an undeserved nap he wrenched himself bolt upright and said aloud, "Black Coffee!"

It was not a beverage recommendation but a plan for location change. The twenty-four hour coffee shop was one of the mangaka's routine haunts, but for whatever reason had not been to visit it in some time. Now, he decided, was the time to renew his status as a regular there.

He packed up his supplies: pens, paper, the manuscripts of last two volumes of The Kan along with Kirishima's notes from their last few meetings. Making a revolted sound at the state of his living room, he made up his mind to leave cleaning it to later (Tuesday night, habit now dictated) and set on his way to Black Coffee.

One bell chime later, he heard well-worn words from a familiar face.

"Welcome to Black Coffee, sir, may I take your order?" Nakata asked, wearing his typical jaggedly sarcastic grin. His eyebrows went up and his smirk widened when he saw who it was. "Sensei, you're back! The usual?"

The usual included extra espresso, which Ijuuin judged might be prudent this morning. He agreed, and Nakata promised it would be brought to his table as soon as it was done. His order finished, Ijuuin retreated into the dim interior of the cafe, spreading out his writing materials at one of the tables in the back.

He cast his mind back to when The Kan and Karai Kyohei had parted ways many volumes ago. Where was it the spicy food-obsessed chef had gone on his eternal quest to become a better cook than The Kan? It had been Europe somewhere, he felt sure–France, perhaps?

His brain-wracking was momentarily interrupted by the arrival of one of Nakata's colleagues with his coffee. Ijuuin took a sip of the stimulating substance, then blew on it gently to cool it–though perfectly brewed and mixed with just the right amount of sugar, the coffee was scorching. The hot-and-ready nature of Black Coffee's offerings were why he had become a staunch patron of the shop so many years ago–that, and their twenty-four hour schedule. One never knew at what hour of the day or night an ingestion of caffeine would be necessary, and this time, like all previous times, it had the desired effect. _Italy!_ , he remembered, _that was where Karai Kyohei went_. It would only be logical, then, if the spice lover's new protege was Italian. Based off of Karai Kyohei's personality (as well as the manga's overall aesthetic), this Italian would have to have some peculiarity, likely one tied to his or her culture, and it had to be something connected at least outwardly to spiciness, thus tying the student back to the teacher. Sipping the coffee, he resumed his brainstorming. The culinary symbols of Italy–spaghetti, lasagna, and pizza, of course. He formed and rejected a few ideas, then came up with a satisfactory answer: someone who put excessive amounts of cheese into their food. It fit with Karai Kyohei's pervasive habit of putting too much spice in his food. Idly, he began sketching, deciding for this volume he would give The Kan a female antagonist. A smiling, pudgy woman (she'd have to be, over-cheesing her food the way she did), a tomato sauce-splattered coat, a pizza with one slice removed, thick strands of pale mozzarella cheese connecting the two.

Ijuuin lost himself in the composition, drawing out the new villainess, Cheesy Cristina, in a variety of expressions and circumstances. Drinking more liberally of his coffee and ordering another, he pictured her first meeting with The Kan and a few of their successive interactions. He determined his mustachioed hero wouldn't at first perceive her as a threat, not knowing of her connection to Karai Kyohei. The last volume, it was true, had given readers enough to suspect the link, but the celebrated chef had always been known more for his fantastic cooking, not his deduction abilities. The Kan was always receiving delivered meals, be they from proteges, admirers, or, on rare occasion, enemies. Last book, he had received a mysterious plate bearing only the brief enigmatic message "Miss Me?" and signed with Karai Kyohei's usual short signature "KyoKa". The chef had been shown taking a bite of the strange tteokbokki and exclaiming "Karai!" before the volume had ended, leaving readers to puzzle over the cliffhanger. Ijuuin had already resolved not to address the mystery meal at the beginning of the new book, leaving open the question of how Karai Kyohei would make his comeback. He wanted to build up a little suspense before suggesting anything.

Three-quarters of the way through both the new volume and his fourth cup of coffee, the dark blue-eyed mangaka was suddenly distracted by Nakata's voice ringing out in the relatively quiet interior of the coffee shop, pronouncing a familiar name.

"Aikawa Mikari! Rise and shine for a mocha with extra espresso!"

He blinked and lifted his pen from the page, tipping his head curiously in the direction of the tall barista's voice. Peering through the dim light of the coffee shop, his eyes took in a recognizably short, slim frame, checking to make sure the outline came complete with overlong dark hair that confirmed what he already knew.

Closing his notebook, the author rose quickly to his feet and made his way over to his black-haired friend. A distraction perhaps, but certainly a welcome one, and with the young chef's cooking acumen it could reasonably be argued he could be of some help in the feast-planning writing The Kan often necessitated. Of course, Ijuuin was more than willing to admit the intricacies of steaming and skewering hadn't be foremost on his mind when he heard Mikari's name; instead, a vivid recollection of the bitterly disillusioned expression on the boy's face when he'd seen Misaki at the mangaka's apartment on a Wednesday night flashed before him. After they'd tasted the spiciness of the chili (which had brought back the memories of Karai Kyohei and helped him finish the last chapter), the remainder of the evening had smoothed before them, but he wasn't sure how his accidental error in judgement had affected the boy's emotional state. Negatively, he felt sure, but how much the boy had stewed in what had admittedly been a mistake, an innocent oversight, he couldn't be sure. Best to not let it sit too long, he had thought, but hadn't been able to force himself into picking up the phone to call. So it was a stroke of luck to see him here, and Ijuuin wasn't about to miss his chance.

"Mikari?" he asked, reaching the boy. Mikari sighed deeply, and Ijuuin worried for an anxiety-filled minute that the boy was about to tell him to go away, or worse, to refuse to acknowledge him at all. Luckily, he did neither, rotating so the two faced each other then staring, eyes dulled from lack of caffeine, blandly in the mangaka's general direction. Ijuuin realized, with a start, that Mikari had blue eyes. They were so ashen most would have called them gray, especially in Black Coffee's low lighting, but at this proximity–and with how easy it was to stare at Mikari's eyes when the dark-haired boy wasn't looking into his own–he could see the indigo flecks within. How many weeks had he known the boy, how many times had they eaten together, and he was just now realizing what color Mikari's eyes were? He wondered what else he had been missing all this time.

The author was distracted from his reverie by the sight of Mikari taking his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. _I could use a smoke too_ , he thought to himself.

"Mikari?" he repeated, deciding he would request a cigarette of his own. Dusky eyes blinked and Mikari pulled himself out of whatever trance he had entered and registered his own actions, finalizing the lighting of the cigarette. Only then, when the ritual was complete, did he respond to Ijuuin's inquiry.

"Sensei." A thin smile danced at the edge of his face.

"Can I have one of those?"

The boy looked puzzled; the aftereffect, no doubt, of his mesmeric state. "Hmm? Yeah, sure," he replied mildly, handing the mangaka a cigarette.

Ijuuin's face creased ever so slightly into a frown. Lack of sleep, he could understand–hell, he was way too familiar with it–but he couldn't accept it. He needed a reaction from Mikari, something to tell him how to behave. _Wake up, damn it!_ , he sent the boy a vigorously telepathic message.

In hopes of facilitating the awakening he bent his head close, lighting his cigarette in a cigarette kiss. The vague frown transformed itself into a sly smile as he remember the last time he'd lit a cigarette in that manner: sitting on the cool, dark deck, the warmth of Mikari's lithe form pressed up against his back, teasing the boy with the words cigarette kiss. Things had seemed so much easier then. Now, though, Mikari barely reacted to the gesture–it was only that Ijuuin was looking so intently into his charcoal and indigo eyes that he noted anything at all.

"Come over to my table," he invited, explaining, as he led the boy to where he'd established himself, the progress he'd made on the new The Kan volume. He showed Mikari some of the drawings he'd made thus far, careful to note the first reaction of a fan. A fan who had come all the way from Canada for him. Even though he was, by this point, well aware Mikari's arrival could have had little to do with him, he still kept the thought, an inside joke he humored himself with from time to time.

"I think I've almost got it," Ijuuin told him, reaching to drain the last dregs of his coffee before it descended into the dreaded lukewarm temperature range. "There's still something missing, though." Remembering his flimsy excuse, he added, "Say, what are you planning to make for our dinner next week? Maybe hearing it will inspire something."

Mikari's eyes developed a faraway look Ijuuin wasn't sure if he should call dreamy or plotting and he downed a deep drink of his coffee.

"Pizza, actually," he told Ijuuin, adding unpretentiously, "I was planning to make every component from scratch: dough, sauce, toppings and all. Oh, by the way, do you have any specific topping requests?"

"Pizza, huh?" he replied. _Right up Cheesy Cristina's alley_. Blinking, he processed the rest of Mikari's remark and found a question at the end. "No pineapple," he answered, hoping Mikari had the correct opinion on the topping, "that's just not right."

"Naturally," the boy replied, a true smile finally gracing his features.

Ijuuin's brain replayed its last thought, stopping at _correct opinion_. People's attitudes about pineapple on pizza were so rigid, he reflected, either loving it or hating it. Doubtless The Kan would hate it, since he did, but Cheesy Cristina… The gears in his mind started to whirl.

"Pineapple, hmm. There's an idea."

He snatched up his pen, an idea for the volume's climax taking shape in his head. He drew furiously, concluding The Kan would finally choose to sample Cheesy Cristina's pizza and request a Hawaiian pizza, sans pineapple of course. But when the pizza arrived, instead of being topped by just Canadian bacon (along with inane amounts of cheese), it would be spread with a special red sauce. Not a typical marinara, but a special spicy arrabiata sauce of Karai Kyohei's own making!

There was a clack and Ijuuin looked up to see the mug in Mikari's hand had slipped out of his grasp, generating the clack when it thumped down on the table. Setting his pen aside, the author bent across the expanse to check on the boy. In the interim created by his sketching Mikari had relaxed completely, his eyelids fluttering gently against the dark skin under his eyes.

"Is he asleep?" Ijuuin speculated aloud. "Mika?" he inquired, and was answered when a faint blush colored the ostensibly sleeping boy's face. Not asleep then, just pretending.

 _God, that's adorable_ , the author instinctively thought, his hand reaching unconsciously for his pen. Now that was a sight well worth recording for later.

"Hmm, let me…"

Did he have an extra notebook? He did.

Too soon, Mikari opened his eyes, abandoning the pretense of a nap. Ijuuin finalized what he'd not yet captured, taking pains to impress his immediate _that's adorable_ thought onto the page as best he could, then filed the picture away to store with his previous drawings. It would make an excellent addition to the growing collection.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," he grinningly welcomed the boy into the world of the woken. He couldn't resist the temptation to ribb his young friend a little, adding, "It's bad manners to sleep in a coffee shop, you know. Negative advertising and so on."

"I was just resting my eyes," Mikari excused, and Ijuuin laughed, recognizing it as a remark parroted from an older man.

"Did the pizza information help?"

Despite how recently he'd been working on the Cheesy Cristina narrative, Ijuuin had to struggle to recall what had occupied his sketchpad before it featured the young man sitting opposite him.

"Hmm? Oh, yes," he replied. In a rush, he remembered what other important The Kan-related matters he had at hand, and realized he would once again be preoccupied by them. "Say, speaking of next Wednesday, I might be back a little late. I have a meeting that afternoon in Yokohama with the movie people." But Mikari was making pizza from scratch, he thought, wouldn't that take longer? He'd probably want to get it started before Ijuuin arrived back from Yokohama, he was just that conscientious of a cook.

The mangaka shoved his penless hand into his pocket, wondering what he should do. The answer pressed itself into his hand in the form of an irregular metal edge: his spare apartment key. So that was where it was!, his mind immediately produced; he had been looking for it for quite some time. Apparently it had been in the pocket of these pants all along! And here it was, the perfect solution to his dilemma.

"Here's a key to my apartment, in case the meeting runs long," he said, offering the key to his black-haired friend. Mikari took it dubiously and thanked him uncomfortably. Ijuuin felt immediately guilty–he hadn't wanted to burden the boy with the key, only reasoned it would be the best way to keep Mikari from being delayed by any potential lateness his trip to Yokohama might cause. Besides, he trusted the blue gray-eyed boy implicitly, knowing he would be more diligent with the key than Ijuuin himself was.

"Um, anyway, I should probably be going. I only came out because I had run out of coffee and I wouldn't want to disturb you at your work," Mikari told him, and though Ijuuin said he didn't mind the boy's presence, Mikari made his excuses and left the coffee shop.

As soon as he was gone, Ijuuin's mind supplied an image of the disgraceful state of his living room and strictly ordered him to clean up. Although he knew Mikari wouldn't come over until Wednesday, the mangaka gathered up his things and readied himself to return to his apartment. He was practically finished with his story anyway. Another excuse, he knew, but at least again he could say it was the truth.


	25. Not Exactly a Pizza Party

A/N: Don't own JJR. Thanks to everyone who reads and reviews and I hope you enjoy chapter twenty-five. Bring on the angst!

Chapter Twenty-Five: Not Exactly a Pizza Party

"Is this a Canadian teenager thing or are you making the mangaka pizza this week?" Aikawa asked Tuesday morning over breakfast.

"What do you think?" was the grumpy reply.

Despite his fatigue-induced ill temper, Mikari knew exactly why she had asked the question. It was her eighth plate of pizza in as many meals as she fell victim to his obsessive testing of his homemade pizza recipe in preparation for his Wednesday dinner with Ijuuin, and even to a constantly rice-eating Japanese person, eight meals in a row of the same food was well beyond more than enough.

When he had returned from Black Coffee the previous Saturday, he had been convinced his recipes, no matter how well-used back in Canada (for his cousin wasn't entirely misguided when she suspected breakfast pizza to be an innovation of the other side of the Pacific) would needed extensive examination and perfection before being prepared for his beloved mangaka the following Wednesday. He had flipped through the cookbooks he had brought with him from Canada, even emailed his mother to ask her to take a look in the collection he had left behind and send him any pertinent data. When questioned, he had claimed he wanted to make something authentically North American for Eri, not citing the true reason. He knew his mother's response would be much more forthcoming if he told her it was to thank his cousin for her continuing hospitality instead of confessing it was to woo a new prospective boyfriend. After all, his parents had already made themselves clear on _that_ particular subject. Recipes in hand, culinary testing had began promptly at six o'clock that night, leading to the first two-person pizza party of many. Aikawa had even been press-ganged into eating pizza for lunch: Mikari had been packing her bentos for quite some time and they had now been replaced by slices with a wide selection of different toppings.

"Mikari?" his cousin asked, breaking his reverie.

"Yes, I've already packed your lunch," he replied absentmindedly, realizing he was staring a hole through the bottom of his coffee cup.

"It's not that, I trust your meal packing diligence," she told him. "Actually, I wanted to ask you something. You've been to Marukawa a few times bringing food, haven't you?" Her younger cousin, circles under his eyes as dark as his shaggy hair, nodded, pouring himself another cup of coffee. "And you've met Kirishima, I imagine?" she continued, worrying silently about the recent uptick in his caffeine intake.

Mikari blinked his tired eyes vacantly, his lack of recent rest causing him to temporarily lose the ability to match faces with names.

"Tall guy with the curly brown hair," Aikawa assisted.

"Ah, yeah," he replied, cover a broad yawn with his coffee cup-less hand. "I saw him not too long ago." Thinking about it, though, it felt like forever ago he'd done the "catering" for Ritsu and Takano. He wondered how the two editors were eating–probably not much better than they usually did. Maybe they would want lunch again?

"He came by while I was eating lunch yesterday–pizza, obviously–and said, _Ah, that explains Cheesy Cristina_. Just that, and then when I finished chewing my bite and went to give voice to the _what the hell are you talking about_ look that I was giving him, he started asking me some questions about one of my authors' new work and didn't let me ask him what he meant."

Mikari gave her a _what the hell are you talking about_ look that bore a unsettling familial resemblance to the one she'd given Kirishima the previous day.

"Cheesy Cristina?"

She shrugged. "No idea, but I assume it's something to do with Ijuuin because it was clearly a reaction to the pizza."

"He _was_ working on something… " Mikari's eyes hazed as he recollected their meeting in Black Coffee. The journey of his caffeine-laden breakfast beverage slowed to a crawl, further stagnating his awakening process.

"Don't you have school?" Aikawa reminded him, chewing on the last bite of crust and wiping her floured hands on her napkin.

"Don't you have work?" Came the sarcasm-laden reply.

A saccharine smirk covered over Aikawa's face. Any battle begun with sarcasm was a battle she was sure to inevitably win. "Yes, which is why I've changed out of my pajamas and combed my hair since I got out of bed."

Her pajama-clad, bed head-haired cousin swallowed any hope of retort and donned a face suitably colored by chagrin. Downing the rest of his coffee, he made a tactical retreat into his bedroom, returning once he had dressed.

"Have a good day at school," Aikawa told him, grinning at her still-adorably disarrayed housemate.

"You too, nee-san," he told her, simultaneously abashed and charming. Running his fingers through his hair until it calmed, he tugged his school bag over his shoulder and followed her onto the street below.

"Pizza for lunch again?"

Mikari looked up to find Fujikage standing next to him, her concerned eyes masked behind a teasing expression. Blinking the fatigue out of his eyes and scanning his surroundings he determined he must have been glassy eyed through his morning classes. He was standing with his friend outside their regular dining spot and the radiant May sun was blazing brighter than Mikari thought it had any right to: it must be lunchtime. Giving his head a rapid shake in an effort to rouse himself and drawing a long breath of the cigarette in his hand, he tried in vain to remember the morning. Evidence showed he must have taken the train to school and Fujikage's presence meant he had gone to at least his first class of the day, but he couldn't recollect anything between leaving the apartment and the present moment. He imagined what Kamijou-sensei's reaction to his blurred stare must have been and shuddered. His lack of an unrelentingly single-minded passion for literature annoyed the irritable professor on the best of days; there was no way his blurred stare had gone unnoticed. No doubt he had been sent the most frigid of glacial stares; luckily, he had no memory of such a frosty reception. And had he even gone to his second class without Fujikage escorting him there? It was unlikely.

"Everything alright?" Fujikage said, her concern now more evident on her face. "You're asleep on your feet."

He mumbled a noncommittal reply, leaving her to raise one black eyebrow in an inquiry tinged with concern. For a brief moment, she scrunched up her face in thought, then decisively chose a course of action.

"You know what, I think I'm feeling a little sick today," she announced in a voice ringing with health, following her remark with a few poorly staged coughs. "You'd better let me come over and make me some chicken noodle soup or something, otherwise I might get worse."

Her tactic had its intended effect, gently coercing a smile out of her exhausted and depressed best friend. Although he was somewhat hesitant to skip his classes, reason told him his attendance wouldn't make much difference to his learning given the state he was in. Gazing vacantly at the blackboard was functionally the same thing as gazing vacantly at one's own ceiling, after all. And Fujikage had cleverly picked up on what was most likely to distract him from his own thoughts: cooking. As long as he didn't make pizza, that is.

Striding out of the school grounds as if it was what she was meant to be doing, Fujikage beckoned a nervous Mikari after her, reminding him she'd only been to the apartment he shared with his cousin once before. He would have to show her the way, something this morning's vanished-from-his-memory commute had proved he could quite literally do even with his eyes closed. For a moment, Mikari worried what Aikawa would say if he arrived home in the middle of the day–she knew his class schedule inside out even though her work meant she was rarely home when he returned. As soon as he finished the thought, though, he realized he had nothing to worry about: there was absolutely no chance such a hard-working editor as his cousin would be home at lunchtime. Besides, he had packed her a pizza picnic, so there was no reason she would need to go to the apartment. Sighing, he relaxed infinitesimally and in his focus on getting of the train at the right stop missed Fujikage's slight smile at the sight.

"Do you really want me to make you chicken soup?" he asked, turning the key to unlock the apartment door.

Fujikage strode past him into the entryway, kicking off her shoes and proceeding to throw herself down onto the apartment's sofa. "No. I'm not picky, really." She gave him a momentarily serious look. "Just not pizza."

"All right," he assented, neatly arranging his shoes next to her scattered ones and making his way to the kitchen. As he did so, his brown-eyed friend rose from what seemed to have been intended to be a longer-term residency on the sofa and followed him, settling herself on the stepstool he kept to counter a certain lack of top-shelf reaching height. "Curry rice it is, then. What's your spice level preference?"

"If I'm honest, not very high," Fujikage informed him a little reluctantly.

"Nothing wrong with that," he responded, starting to seem more like his usual self as he took the necessary vegetable ingredients out of the fridge. "Your tolerance is probably higher than most of the people in Canada. It's not exactly a country renown for its spicy food."

His friend shrugged in agreement, sipping on a glass of water he hadn't noticed her obtain. Assuming she must have gotten it while he wasn't looking, he busied himself chopping the vegetables and preparing the rice cooker.

"So is there anything you want to talk about?" Fujikage asked casually when he'd began to saute what would become the curry. Mikari sighed, stirring the vegetables as an excuse to stall his reply. He could hardly avoid understanding what she was talking about, even phrased as vaguely as she had. The real question, though, was whether or not he even _wanted_ to talk about what had been fueling his pizza cooking odyssey-slash-insomnia lately. There wasn't much he could do _but_ talk about it, though.

Sighing deeply, he began, "I don't think I'm looking forward to tomorrow evening."

As he had expected, Fujikage's eyebrows made another journey towards her hairline.

"The more I see him, the less I think this is going to work out well for me," the glasses-clad boy continued, adding a few spices to the curry pot and turning it down for a long simmer. "I mean, I thought I didn't have that much hope at the beginning, so I thought I wouldn't get disappointed if he ended up saying no. I guess deep down I was being more optimistic than I knew, though: I'm only becoming aware of it as I lose that idealism. At this point, it seems like the stronger I hope he'll fall for me the less I believe he really will."

 _He hasn't actually said no yet_ , Fujikage mentally told him. Unfortunately, there would be no point in voicing this important point, she judged, given what was at stake concerned Mikari's feelings and not confessions yet left opened-ended.

"Is that why you keep making the pizza?" she asked instead. "As a way to keep your hope alive?"

He exhaled again. "I don't know. But whatever he says, I feel like I still have to make the best food he's ever tasted. Even if he only thinks of me as a good chef, at least that's something."

 _I'm sure he thinks of you as an amazing chef_ , Fujikage retorted internally. Once again, she was struck by how despairing love-struck people, even the brightest, could be astoundingly dull when it came to their own situations. She was determined she would not to fall in love in such an irrational way. She would prefer to keep her sleep schedule right where it was, just over the edge into reasonable. The two of them descended into silence, each pondering, in their own way, the ridiculousness of love, until Mikari announced, "Curry's ready."

Dishing up their plates, they made their way back into the living room and sat together on the sofa to eat.


	26. Fire and Ash

A/N: I don't own JJR. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy chapter twenty-six. Bring on the angst!

Chapter Twenty-Six: Fire and Ash

At six AM the next morning, a time usually far too bright and early for her to even think about waking, Fujikage Kikue found herself quite unexpectedly sitting bolt upright in her bed, all thoughts of sleep completely dispelled from her mind. She wasn't naturally an early riser, but this morning she didn't feel a shred of fatigue as she swung her legs over the side of her bed and slid her bare feet in her waiting black cat slippers.

 _This is weird_ , she thought, casting a glance back at her still-snoozing alarm clock, simultaneously feeling that the time must be wrong while knowing with certainty her clock was unimpeachable. Rising to her feet and going about her morning preparations, she made up her mind that it was the perfect time to go over to school and pick up the papers from the classes she'd missed the previous afternoon. It wasn't as if there would be any point in lying back down and trying to doze off again–an oddly adamant sense of wakefulness permeating her head told her she was up for good. Besides, with summer coming, it was pleasant enough outside she didn't feel her usual overwhelming desire to crawl back under the covers and try to hang on to any shred of warmth she could find.

Stretching her thigh-high socks up over her knees and throwing on a cozy sweatshirt, she headed into her kitchenette, stuffing a pair of slices of bread into the toaster and starting her waiting teakettle. It was her usual breakfast–she preferred to minimize the time it took to get ready in the morning to allow herself to stay in bed as late as possible, and tea and toast was what she had settled on for the quickest possible morning fare. As she waited for her meal to be ready, she cast her mind back to the previous afternoon, to her conversation with Mikari.

" _The more I see him, the less I think this is going to work out well for me,"_ he had said. It wasn't an enviable position to be in, she thought, and she had nothing but sympathy for her friend. What a person Ijuuin must be to have enraptured him so! She'd heard of him as an author, of course, even read a few volumes of The Kan, although she didn't have much of a taste for cooking manga. But meeting Usami-sensei had only confirmed the suspicion she had–that an author's work wasn't much to go on when trying to determine their personality. She'd liked Usami, it was true, but only the fact that she'd read interviews and watched TV appearances had prepared her for the real thing. Someone who had judged the violet-eyed man based solely on his beautifully eloquent volumes would more likely have been unfavorably surprised at his jagged edges, even as much as Misaki had softened them.

Her toast sprang out of the toaster and she seized a knife, ready to apply her precious peanut butter. It had proven less of a pain to seek out in Tokyo, and, even better, Mikari had promised to have his parents send him a few jars when she ran out, so she basked in a sense of luxury and spread it thickly over her toast. Draining the last of her overlarge cup of tea, she made her way to the stairs, emerging on the sidewalk below. The sunlight was already bright–another incandescent day beginning. Glad she had come prepared, she stuck what remained of her toast into her mouth and used her free hand to slide sunglasses over squinting eyes before turning east to make her way to the university's academic buildings.

As she made her way about the campus, passing by her fellow students as they went about their morning routines, she felt grateful she'd made the decision to schedule her move to Tokyo a few weeks before the start of the semester. Nagasaki was hardly a quaint village, but no city could claim to be Tokyo's match for sheer size and complexity. Without the weeks she had spent wandering the part of the city to which the campus was confined, she would have lost her way and found herself meandering amongst unfamiliar glass and steel-monstrosities instead of surrounded by the slightly more familiar university buildings of identical composition. As she made her way through said buildings, obtaining the papers she required and dropping the obligatory, "Yes, I'm feeling much better now"s required as part of the explanation for her prior absence, she saw a few of her fellow classmates, trading smiles and nods equally with them. All were headed on their way to their next classes, however, and let her go without much remark.

Her notes gathered, she slid her headphones over her ears in preparation for the return journey. When she scanned her watch, she noticed her inadvertent early rising meant she had a more-than-adequate measure of excess time and decided to make the most of the good weather to take a stroll in a nearby park.

It was a few minutes later, mind meditatively surrounded by her music, that she recognized the figure of Ijuuin-sensei sitting on a bench by one of the park's impressively ancient weeping willows. He was exactly as Mikari had described him: tall and handsome, cunning navy eyes cut beneath a drape of ebony black hair. Her friend hadn't been falling victim to his overactive imagination when he'd said the man seemed completely in control, someone who would stay calm and collected no matter what words came out of another's mouth. Maddeningly superior, Mikari had called him, and with Ijuuin here before her, it was easy to see why. A smirk made its subtle way onto her features as she imagined cracking his carefully maintained exterior.

Her eyes narrowing with interest, she headed in his direction, noticing as she did that he wasn't alone. Beside him on the bench was a young woman aged between she and Ijuuin's with short black hair and glasses. She was dressed much as Fujikage herself was and looked thoroughly out of place next to Ijuuin's sleek business casual.

 _Who is she_? She wondered, intrigued by what she might discover. First, though, she owed Ijuuin an admonition, and she was determined to deliver it no matter what unfamiliar company he might be keeping.

"On my life, Ijuuin Kyo!" she exclaimed, her former smirk making a full return. The author turned, matching her expression with his own. Little could he expect she was not rabid fan but something else entirely, she thought, the statement only fueling her grin wider.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" He asked, a mist of confusion drifting across his face as he struggled to marry her unfamiliar face with the colloquial tone of greeting she'd adopted. "Have we perhaps met before? I'm afraid I meet so many these days, which I will openly confess is my sorry excuse for forgetting your name."

Fujikage choked back a cough at how little Ijuuin knew of the true nature of their encounter.

"Oh, I'm not a fan, Ijuuin-sensei, but I am friends with one. Does the name Aikawa Mikari ring any bells?"

Smug gratification filled her mind as Ijuuin's face froze, his eyes wide and mind no doubt reeling. As self-satisfied as she felt in surprising him, though, she was secretly glad the name gave him pause–it meant he was taking Mikari's confession quite a bit more seriously than the anxious boy thought him to be.

Quickly enough, the mangaka recovered, professional politeness covering over his momentary lapse in composure.

"You must be Fujikage Kikue," he greeted her. "Aikawa-kun mentions you rather frequently, I must say." Fujikage felt a rush of pride to be spoken of in such a way and admitted to the name, bowing her greeting. Rising from the bench, Ijuuin did the same, motioning his companion to join them. "This is Sakamoto, a colleague of mine."

"Good to meet you, Fujikage-san," the girl said shyly. Now that she stood, Fujikage could see she was short, the top of her head only coming up to Ijuuin's shoulder. She had to confess it was quite endearing, the petite girl dwarfed by her taller senpai. "My name is Sakamoto Kyung-hwa, though most people know me by my pen name, Kajahara Sanae."

Fujikage's eyes widened. This timid, demure girl was Kajahara-sensei, the renowned horror mangaka? An extreme reminder of the reminder she had given herself that morning not to judge an author by their works, it seemed.

With that, she was reminded to turn her mind back to the critique she had resolved to deliver to Ijuuin when she had seen him seated there.

"Say, Ijuuin, how are those Wednesday dinners coming?" she asked, pointed question veiled.

"Aikawa doesn't tell you?" he replied, innocently pretending he didn't understand the purpose of her question.

"Oh, he does, but it's always interesting to hear things from the other point of view, don't you think?" she continued their question for a question game.

The corner of Ijuuin's mouth edged upwards as he realized he was dealing with more than he had expected. A true challenged was to be issued, it seemed. Turning to Kajahara, he saw she had the slightest of smiles on her face, already anticipating what he would ask of her.

"I had better get back to my work," the introverted author excused herself. She could see a private conversation was shaping up to take place and did not wish to interfere. "My editor won't like it if I spend too much time avoiding my deadline, after all. I'll see you later, I-kun?"

Mentally resolving to send her a thank you gift of her favorite white chocolate later, Ijuuin nodded and resumed his seat on the bench, motioning Fujikage to sit beside him. The two silently watched Kajahara leave, each wondering what the next words voiced would be.

To his surprise as much as Fujikage's, it was Ijuuin who spoke first.

"You know him better than I do, of that I have no doubt," he told her, his tone a pale imitation of the surety it had contained on her first approach. "How is he?"

Fujikage sighed, rubbing a finger across her brow. She too, had dropped her boldness; all that remained beneath their posturing was their shared concern for their friend. Holding her eyes closed for an all-too-brief moment, she exhaled again, knowing what she had to do.

She turned, catching Ijuuin's dark blue eyes in an iron grip.

"I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer seriously and fully," she instructed the author, her voice solemn. Ijuuin, compelled by the strength of her gaze, nodded obediently, his expression unusually reticent. If she had seen the look on her best friend, Fujikage would have called it dread; knowing Ijuuin as poorly as she did, she couldn't venture beyond naming the mangaka nervous. Steadying herself, she continued, "Do you care for Mikari?"

Ijuuin let down what remained of his guard in a monolithic sigh, sagging against the bench. Reaching nigh-unconsciously into his pocket, he drew out the pack of cigarettes he'd resumed the habit of carrying around lately and, casting a quick questioning glance at Fujikage for permission, lit one, inhaling deeply and breathing out an infinite stream of smoke. Surveying him, Fujikage couldn't help but internally remark at the transformation of the man before her. It was almost enough of an answer to her question without his words, but she had already made her decision, and for Mikari's sake she wasn't about to let him off lightly now.

"Whether I say yes or no, I'm going to ruin that boy's life, aren't I?" came his final reply.

Fujikage's eyes tightened, a burning irritation rising up within her chest. "If you think it matters that little, why don't you just tell the truth?" Her breath came shorter now, suffused with a rising anger. "You're already ruining his life!"

She hadn't meant to raise her voice, but it came out as a shout, a remark to cut into the writer's heart. All of the other words she needed to say, how she couldn't stand to see her dearest friend in pain over someone who wouldn't even do him the decency of letting him down gently, fed their bitterness into the short accusation. Forcing herself to breath deeply, she considered calming down, remaining within the realm of the rational, then decided to continue in her approach. Directness was the only way to get through to this man, it seemed.

"I'm sorry," Ijuuin replied, the look on his face lending support to his words. For Fujikage, it wasn't enough.

"Don't say that to _me_ ," she fired back darkly, her eyes stone. Ocean eyes couldn't hold the burning gaze and Ijuuin looked away, apparently discovering something of extreme interest on the ground at his feet. She let the silence lengthen, let the embers of his cigarette continue to burn, waiting for whatever reply he chose to give.

When he finally quit taking an unnatural interest in his cigarette ashes and turned back to face her, his expression was surprisingly vulnerable.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted, his deep blue eyes conflicted.

"Rip the Band-aid off," she ordered, and he broke eye contact again, glancing at the red-glowing tip of the cigarette poised in his fingers. She stood, giving one final command before she left. "And I'll tell you what I told him: Don't smoke yourself into an early grave over futures that haven't even happened yet."


	27. Wasn't I Just Faking Sick?

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Wasn't I Just _Faking_ Sick?

The same sun that illuminated an unexpectedly early rising Fujikage that morning also shone through the crack in a pair of curtains in the window of an apartment a few short miles away and a few short hours later, glancing off the slumped body of a fitfully sleeping Mikari. His blankets had been thrashed about in, leaving them haphazardly draped around the boy: one blanket had been twisted under one leg, over the other, and back across the black-haired sleeper's body, re-emerging to waterfall over the edge of the bed, the majority of it resting on the floor beside it. Another had been cast utterly to the side, only a crumpled corner resting beneath black locks. The sheet, too, had been disturbed by Mikari's tossing and turning; it covered only his left half, and his right foot had been pushed around to emerge from beneath it. There was no trace of any pillow, although the young man usually slept with two.

Groaning softly, Mikari shifted uneasily, releasing the hold his legs had held on his blanket. A few more inches of soft material crept over the edge of the bed, mounding on the floor.

"Mikari?" called a voice from the kitchen–Aikawa's. On most days, he would have already been in the kitchen by this hour, cooking a breakfast for them to share and pressing a bento made from last night's leftovers into her waiting hands. "Are you okay?"

Fatigued from a night spent half-awake, Mikari thought briefly about rising but quickly determined he lacked the strength to. Perhaps he could do it in a few minutes… he thrust his face into his mattress, sighing deeply and releasing another weak groan.

There was a knock at his bedroom door. "Mikari?"

"Mm?"

With a soft click, the door opened and Eri entered the room. By her dress, she had been moments from leaving for work; by the concern on her face, she had decided she couldn't leave without checking on her cousin. She knelt by his bedside and inspected his condition, eventually raising the back of her hand to feel his forehead. A small smile, intermixed worry and amusement, graced her features.

"And here I was thinking you _faked_ sick coming home early yesterday," she commented, "Looks like you were just a little early in your pronouncement."

She looked him over carefully, hiding her apprehension behind her best loving older sister smile.

"I can't stay home from work–one of my authors is really struggling and needs a little certified Aikawa motivation–but promise me you'll spend at least two-thirds of the day in bed, okay? And keep your phone close by and call me if you feel any worse."

Mikari nodded, and giving him a gentle muss of the hair, Aikawa rose to her feet and departed, closing the door delicately behind her.

When she had left, he reached for his phone, sitting on his bedside table, and dialed his friend.

"Fujikage?" he asked, voice rough as sandpaper. "Apparently I wasn't just faking sick. Can you pass the word along to my professors and seek out notes for me, please?"

His best friend replied in the affirmative, expressing her wishes he return to health as soon as humanly possible, and ordered him, as his cousin had, to remain in his bed for as long as necessary. Assuring her he would, he hung up, and fell again into a troubled rest.

A few hours later, he lurched hectically out of bed, just barely succeeding in making it to the toilet before throwing up the curry leftovers he'd had for dinner. Heaving up the rest of the acid, he was able to rise to his feet and rinse out his mouth, feeling marginally better. Maybe he might be able to sleep a little after this, although he couldn't be sure. It was equally likely he would find himself returned an hour or so later, bent double coughing up what remained a second time. He forced himself to drink a glass of water–his parents had always told him it was best to drink lots of water when he was ill–and shambled back to his bed.

He was just about to close his eyes when a thought suddenly struck him: Ijuuin. It was Wednesday, so the man would be expecting their dinner that night, hopefully (Mikari thought) even anticipating it. Reaching again for his waiting phone, he told himself he needed to cancel the occasion: it would be downright dangerous to cook for someone in his current state. He found Ijuuin's contact number in his list and pressed the call button. Surprisingly, the call went straight to voicemail, an oddly professional rendition of Ijuuin's voice requesting a name, number and message to be contacted back within a reasonably short time frame. The directive was aloofly professional and oddly cold, and Mikari quickly hung up without leaving a message, put off by the unfamiliar note to the mangaka's voice. Instead, he fired off a brief text, informing the writer he was ill and their dinner would have to be cancelled. That done, he released his phone to his nightstand and himself to the delayed embrace of sleep.

True to his unfortunate predictions, he found himself, half an hour later, slumped over again, gifting yet more of his stomach acid freedom from the confines of his gut. Looking in the mirror, he inspected the dark bags beneath his eyes, depression rushing towards him. Thank the gods he had cancelled the dinner: he blanched at the mere thought of Ijuuin seeing him in his current state. Jun-sae had always passed down a quarantine order on them when one of the two got sick, for health reasons, and he couldn't imaging Ijuuin doing any differently. No one liked seeing a sick person, not even doctors, and they were in constant contact with them. Forcibly putting an end to his train of thought–with his bout of illness, it was hard enough to sleep _without_ his overwhelming tendency to overthink things getting in the way–he gulped down another glass of water and shuffled sluggishly back to his bed, collecting his blankets around him properly and finally succeeding in attaining a true sleep.

He woke up six hours later, feeling refreshed but not yet fully recovered, to a knock at the apartment door.


	28. Bone Broth

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Bone Broth

Sitting in the bland, windowless conference room, Ijuuin felt his phone buzz for the third time that morning and wondered if he dared sneak a glimpse at it to determine the identity of the texter. Sure, he was interested in the production team's plans for overseas marketing–he wanted to see the movie sell well as much as any of them–but did they really have to go into such elaborate detail for their plans for each subregion of each of the many countries they had lined up licensing partnerships with? And even if they did, did he really have to be in attendance for the duration of their presentation? It wasn't as if he would suddenly leap up and say, "Yes, I have an insightful and precise suggestion for advertising in the East Kalimantan region of Indonesia!" He didn't even know where the East Kalimantan region of Indonesia was; maybe he ought to Google it later. Hmm, maybe he could Google it right now and that would be his cover for looking at his phone.

"Sensei?" a voice interrupted the formation of his secret plan and forced his eyes to unglaze themselves. It was the room's youngest member, an enthusiastic intern who had been more than eager to pepper him with questions during the earlier part of the meeting, when the movie management had asked him to outline the movie's plot to open the discussion and bring everyone onto the same page.

"Yes, what can I help you with?" he replied, hoping it wasn't obvious his thoughts had been elsewhere.

"I'm gathering the lunch orders and I was wondering if you had a specific request?" she asked. Luckily, it didn't sound like a repeated question.

 _Ah,_ he thought _, the usual misunderstanding: people thinking that I have exacting culinary specifications because I'm a food writer._ It wasn't something he minded as much recently, he realized, guessing his association with a certain promising young chef had given him a greater appreciation for a truly well-cooked meal.

"I can't say I'm exceptionally knowledgeable with Yokohama's best lunching, so I'll defer to the local advantage," he replied, passing the buck back to its giver with his usual reply. "Something warm though, please." He would love a five year old Yamazaki on the rocks, too, but judged it more prudent to keep his mouth shut on that request. Not many outside the professions of writer or artist would accept drinking so early in the day, even if he maintained that, in this case, he was only looking to pass the meeting in a more enjoyable way. The intern beamed as if he meant it as a compliment, which he chose to allow her, and stepped out of the room to make the order.

When the lunch order finally arrived, he found she had chosen a meal of kushikatsu with rice. Seeing the bamboo skewers piercing through the fried food, he was reminded of another impaled meal: the fateful dinner where Mikari had confessed his intentions for their friendship. He felt guilty at the memory of his chef friend, ashamed he'd lazily whiled away so much time without answering the looming, nerve-wracking question the boy had posed. Reminded of Mikari, he dug out his phone, guessing one of that morning's texts might be from his charming young admirer. Intriguingly, he found the name Aikawa doubled on his notification screen–there were communiqués from both his dinner companion and the boy's persevering editor cousin. He opened Mikari's text first, assuming Aikawa's text would most likely be about her cousin, who she had taken under her wing with the protectiveness of an older sister.

 _Am ill. Dinner canceled._

Ijuuin's heart sank below his stomach and he suddenly lost all hunger for the previously delicious smelling kushikatsu before him. Ill? Ill how? It had to be bad if he'd only been able to get out so little: usually Mikari's missives seemed oddly long for the medium of text. Double checking Aikawa's message, he learn Mikari was resting at home (what a relief to learn he wasn't in the hospital) and quickly resolved to pay him a visit as soon as he could. It was the least he could do, and Mikari would have probably done double, cooking him up a feast of the most healthful and immune-fortifying of his vast array of delectable recipes. Making short work of half of his kushikatsu (he might as well fortify himself while it was before him, after all), he cautiously approached the meeting's leader. He wasn't sure how well a request to leave early would go down–these people all seemed very serious about their work, and it was pretty clear from the level of detail of this morning's presentation that they were very thorough with it as well.

"Asano-san?"

She politely broke off her conversation with two of her employees, "Yes, Sensei? What can I do for you?"

"I'm deeply sorry to have to ask you this, but would you mind restricting this afternoon's discussion to the bare essentials and leaving discussion of the rest for a later date? I just received word that a very good friend of mine is rather sick, and I'm anxious to visit them as soon as I can."

Her face morphed from irritation to concern at his reasoning, and she turned to beckon the employees she had just been speaking to, who had been making their way back to their lunches. "Goodness, I hope your friend's malady isn't too serious. Just yesterday, my nephew went to see the doctor for what they thought was a flu and turned out to be meningitis! You never know these days. I'll talk to Hirayama and Hishikawa and have them slim down what they can."

"Thank you so much, Asano-san," he replied gratefully, bowing. Returning to his seat, he tried to keep his face calm, though internally his mind was roiling. What if Mikari had meningitis? He didn't know much about the illness, but he knew it was serious, resulting in inflammation in the brain. No, he told himself, that was something that would land a person in the hospital. If Mikari was still at home, it couldn't be that bad. But what if he thought it was a just an ordinary headache and fever mix?

He wrenched himself away from the nervous whirlpool beginning to form in his head and focused on making it through whatever now remained of his meeting.

Three hours of surreptitious pen twiddling, chair shifting and wondering what the full length version could have been if this was the "slimmed down" version later, Asano stood to bring the meeting to an early close.

"Thank you everyone for your contributions today and a special thank you to Ijuuin-sensei and the representatives from Marukawa Shoten. On that note, I also want to thank everyone for their cooperation with the shortening of our presentation to help Sensei be on his way to see his dear sick friend."

Kirishima, across the room, shot Ijuuin a confused, suspicious glance; he hadn't overheard the conversation between the mangaka and Asano earlier and had been wondering what Asano had meant when she had said, upon reconvening the meeting after lunch, that they would be "keeping the presentation short and sweet as someone unfortunately must leave early".

"Please don't neglect to ask myself, Asano Sayuri, or my two second-in-commands: head of sales Hirayama Tomoya-san and film production head Hishikawa Tsugumichi-san, if you should have any questions beyond the further material we will be distributing to supplement this meeting."

She gestured to the two employees she had been speaking to when Ijuuin approached her, and he realized with a start as she did that he had been mistaking the two for each other the entire meeting. Really he ought to be focusing on something that important, he thought, and hoped Kirishima would make sure he was up to speed later.

Dark blue eyes locked on his phone moments later as he stood on a subway platform researching when he could next get a train to Tokyo. Fifteen minutes, it seemed–if he could manage to be at the right station in time for the right train.

Luck was on his side, and seventy-six minutes later he again stood on a subway platform, eyes locked on his phone, researching again. This time, thought, it was what food was most effective as a general immune booster. After a quick stop at the supermarket (why were there so many types of bone broth available?), he headed towards the flat Mikari and his editor cousin shared. The university student had divulged the address rather begrudgingly at one of their previous dinners and now Ijuuin was glad he had pressed for it: it would have been rather tricky to obtain it at that very moment. Briefly, he thought about calling the young man to let him know he was coming–surprise wasn't exactly the best medicine–but decided against it: he didn't want to disturb any hard-won slumbers.

Bone broth carton in one hand and grab-bag pharmacy medley in the other, he mustered up his courage, donned his best let's-get-you-better smile, and knocked.

A/N: Hey, I'm back! On a related note, this was supposed to be up middle of last week but I got sick. What an unfortunate coincidence :(


	29. Kiss It Better

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Kiss It Better

" _What_?" croaked a voice that had not spoken in nearly eight hours and sounded as though the pause had only made it rather worse for the wear.

After fairly vehemently, though silently, cursing whatever abject moron had rudely bothered to disturb his recovery slumbers, Mikari had roughly hauled himself out of bed, tossing back another draft of water in an attempt to help his rousing and throwing his dark blue robe over his pajamas. His legs–truthfully, his entire body–still mostly asleep, he'd shambled in the direction of the apartment's front door, thinking that if that NHK woman had come by again he'd be far less distractedly amenable and far more likely to sneeze in her face half out of irritation and half out of just plain sickness. Then he had opened the door.

Seeing who stood before him, he cocked his head, confused. "Aren't you supposed to be in Yokohama?"

"Dear Mika, thank god you're alright!" exclaimed Ijuuin in a voice full to brimming with clearly unfeigned concern and more than a little fear-turned-relief. Without pausing to set down the convenience store plastic bag he held, he pulled the boy into an embrace rather closer than most would undertake with an obviously ill person.

A long moment passed in which Mikari, still exhausted from his ordeal, briefly dozed into Ijuuin's shoulder, then abashedly remembered his circumstances and yanked himself roughly out of his daze.

"Let go of me, Sensei," he said, his voice growing stronger with each word, "everyone knows being close to a sick person only makes you sick. Actually, you probably shouldn't even be here at all–the air's must be full of germs right now."

"I don't care," came the muffled voice of someone who'd buried their face in the shoulder of a person shorter than them.

"Well, you should. Didn't you tell me work on the _The Kan_ movie was just about to go into 'time to give 100% every day' mode? You can't get sick, you have important things to do."

"You're more important."

Mikari stiffened. Certainly he was more naive than most, but he wasn't going to believe that what he'd dreamed about would actually happen. He wasn't _that_ gullible.

"Come now, don't be ridiculous," he rebuked frostily, trying to extricate himself from the author's grasp. "If this is some sort of joke to make me feel better when I'm sick, I don't want to hear it."

Ijuuin lifted his face and looked Mikari directly in his eyes, tightening his grip a bit to keep the ill boy from escaping.

"It's not a joke. I'm serious. You are more important to me than this movie–no, more important to me than my work."

From the look in his eyes and the small sound of disbelief he made, the writer could tell Mikari wasn't convinced.  
"I am. And I'm not letting go of you, and if it makes me sick I deserve to be afflicted twice as badly as you are for how terribly I've treated you."

Mikari sighed and stopped struggling. "No, you don't. You've been perfectly courteous to me this whole time while I've been nothing but an overly persistent and demanding pest to you. Let go of me and I'll make you some tea and you can see I'm not ailing as much as you seem to think. Then you can go back to work and I'll promise to stop being such a bothersome and clingy fanboy from now on."

"Be twice as persistent, three times as demanding, more clingy than the most adhesive tape on the market. Knowing what you want and going after it with all the perseverance in the world is a _good_ thing, Mikari. They're certainly qualities I wish I had more of, and maybe if I did it wouldn't have taken me this long to say I love you."

Then, desperate to get the disbelieving and depressed expression off the face before him, Ijuuin kissed Mikari.

Even the shattering sound of fallen crockery failed to get the attention of either. It was only when the water started soaking into Ijuuin's socks that the writer reluctantly drew breath from the air around him and not from his beloved's lips.

"Did you drop your glass of water?" he murmured gently, mouth close enough to Mikari's that the boy felt the words more than heard them.

"Oh, who cares," Mikari responded, and reclaimed Ijuuin's lips for purposes other than speech.

Later, it was Mikari who released Ijuuin to address their circumstances in the physical world.

"Sensei, I don't know what you're carrying in your hand, but it's digging into my back."

Ijuuin smiled happily down at him, then processed what he'd actually said.

"Oh, the broth! Right, I should probably set that down before it gets dropped too." He somewhat begrudgingly let Mikari out of his embrace, showing him the convenience store bag and its brothy contents. "The, ah, the Internet said bone broth is supposed to be good for sick people, so I got some for you." Mikari smiled back at him, directing him towards the kitchen, but not before Ijuuin could add, "And, by the way, I think we're a little bit past you calling me 'sensei' at this point, don't you think?"

Mikari went crimson, embarrassedly replying, "Yes… Kyo."

Unable to stop the emergence of his telltale smirk, Ijuuin instructed Mikari to sit down on the sofa while he cleared the shards of mug from the entryway. "I'll heat up some of that broth for you and then something tells me I have a pretty large amount of explaining to do."

Mikari's face became solemn. "Yes," he said, "You do."

When he was finished with the cleanup, Ijuuin handed Mikari his cup of broth, took a deep breath, and began.  
"I'm still trying to understand why I was too dense to figure it out before, but I've had feelings for you for a while, actually. Your text this morning, though, was what made me sure of them. You're usually a lot more, well, talkative in your messages so I thought your short text must mean that you were too sick to write a longer one. And then the movie project head said something about her nephew having meningitis out of the blue, and I was so worried about you. I know it seems silly, but I wasn't thinking reasonably. I just kept thinking: you could have been _dying_ for all I knew, and I couldn't let you go. I had to tell you how I felt before you slipped between my fingers. All those times I'd thought 'he's so adorable' or caught myself thinking how I'd treat you better than that Korean ex of yours if _I_ was your boyfriend and been too stupid to recognize I just should have _said_ something, anything, instead of keeping you in the dark all because I couldn't understand how quickly I'd gone from watching Misaki's every move to finding the flutter of your eyelashes and the sound of your voice when you said my name a thousand times more distracting than I'd find it if he suddenly confessed he liked me and not that grumpy teddy bear. Even when Zen–ah, Kirishima–called to chastise me for lying about my reasons for going to that onsen–yes, I admit to having followed you deliberately, I wasn't just looking for an excuse to avoid my deadlines–I still didn't get it through my thick head. I mean, I knew where you were because I called you to ask you to dinner, a date really, and still kept saying, 'he's just a friend'. Oh Mikari, I'm so sorry I let your feelings go unanswered for so long and I'm sure I only made things worse for you by not asking Misaki to leave that day. Honestly I was such an idiot then and I hope you'll forgive me and I saved those spicy chocolate hearts so we can eat them together, if you'd like…"

Mikari set down his broth, took the mangaka's chin in his hands and kissed him, cutting off the flood of words. When he broke away, he was smiling tenderly and Ijuuin became suddenly very aware of his racing heart.

"You _are_ an idiot," he said, beaming, "but I don't care if you're an idiot, I love you anyway, Kyo…"

He stopped, looking like he couldn't smile any wider.

"I'm sorry, I'll continue but first I'm going to say that again, it's really exhilarating. I love you, Kyo."

This time, the author didn't refrain from voicing his first thought, "Gods, how do you manage to be so astoundingly cute?"

"The same way that smirk of yours manages to drive me crazy every time it finds its way onto your face."

Ijuuin delivered up a smirk, and Mikari kindly wiped it off his face for him with a kiss.

"In regards to Misaki-kun, you have behaved rather badly, but I'm sure we'll find a way for you to make it up to me," the dark-haired boy cheerfully informed his new boyfriend. "Oh, and on the matter of those chocolate hearts, I would like very much to eat them together," he added, taking Ijuuin's hand in his own, "how does Wednesday sound?"


	30. Contagious

Chapter Thirty: Contagious

"Hello, you've reached the voicemail of Ijuuin Kyo, I'm too busy writing to answer your call right now. Please leave your name, number, and reason for seeking to disrupt my creative process and I'll call you back when I can be bothered to get around to it."

"Gods damn it, Kyo!" yelled Kirishima, tightly gripping his phone in order to prevent himself from throwing it across his office. "Pick up the damn phone already!"

The knock on the door came so rapidly he almost mistook it for the sound of his phone hitting the wall and had to check his hand to make sure it was still there.

He composed himself quickly–no need for any of his subordinates to see him so pissed off–then said, "Yes?"

The door crept open a slit, and the green eyes of Takahashi Misaki peered into the gap. "Kirishima-san? Is everything alright?"

"Yes, yes. Only an idiot author," he responded, politely irate.

"Aren't they all?" Misaki wondered out loud, and Kirishima took a moment from his annoyance with Ijuuin to wonder what trouble Usami-sensei was giving the young man now. As he thought of the irascible violet-eyed author, an idea came to mind, and he got to his feet, striding out from behind his desk.

"You know what, I think I'm going to pull an Aikawa and give that troublesome man a visit," he announced, then stopped in his tracks, realizing he was forgetting something. "Say, Takahashi-kun: would you mind jogging my memory as to Ijuuin-sensei's address?"

Standing in front of Ijuuin's door, Kirishima realized he had forgotten a little more than the mangaka's address.

"And of course his door's locked!" he exclaimed, clapping his hand to his forehead in exasperation. "How does Aikawa do this!"

"I have a _key_ ," came an amused voice from behind him.

Kirishima turned, and there before him stood Aikawa Mikari–not the one he'd been thinking of, but apparently there was more than one Aikawa with keys to the home of a famous author.

"Aikawa Mikari!" he said, surprised. "How is it both you and your cousin have the house keys of legendary Marukawa headaches?"

Mikari chuckled at the description. "Well, I'm fairly certain Eri took hers by force, but I have no such inclinations. Kyo gave this to me." The metal glinted as he held up the aforementioned object.

Kirishima's eyebrows rose. _Oh, so it's_ Kyo _now,_ he thought. _That's much more interesting than the admittedly quite fascinating idea that Aikawa veritably fought Usami-sensei for her key_.

"Here to see the patient, I presume?" Mikari questioned.

"Hm?"

"Ah, so you _don't_ know he's sick," the boy replied thoughtfully. " _That_ must be why you made him throw his phone across the room with all your calling. Sorry about the lack of response, but he's been throwing up more than speaking lately." He and Kirishima winced in unison at the mental image.

"If that's the case, I have to apologize," Kirishima admitted, "I've been calling him almost nonstop–" the boy gave him a tired _I know_ look "–it's only, his deadline was yesterday morning, and I've already extended this one twice."

"Well, on the off chance he might have something workable in here; I'll let you in and you can have a look around."

He stepped past Kirishima and unlocked the door, motioning with his other hand for the editor to come in, then following the gesture with a shushing finger to the lips. The brown-haired man nodded, quietly walking across the lintel behind him.

"Mika?" came the rasp of a weakened voice. "Bring me some more water, please?"

"Hot or cold?" Mikari called back, his voice low and gentle.

"...hot, I think. But maybe also bring one of those cold towels?"

"Okay, just a moment." The black-haired boy led Kirishima into the main room, where he motioned the editor towards the pile of papers on the living room table, then strode over to the stove and began heating the water waiting in a small pot there.

"I brought these out here after your tenth call or so, thinking you might show up at some point," he explained. "Eri told me she once quite literally stood looking over the shoulder of one of her authors until they finished the piece they had on deadline. Editors are pretty fearsome things, the way she tells it."

Kirishima settled himself beside the table, paging through the papers Mikari had indicated. Most were old storyboards–an understandable deluge of character studies on his antagonist Karai Kyohei, who was set to resurface in the new volume–but there were a few aimless sketches shuffled in amongst the work. It did seem that Ijuuin had almost, if not completely, finished what he needed. As he sifted out the _The Kan_ pages from the writing chaff, a particular drawing caught his eye.

When Mikari returned from bathing his boyfriend's brow and chiding him not to drink his tea too fast, there was a cunning glee in the tall editor's eyes, and he instinctively quickened his step, striding towards the seated man.

"Did you find what you were looking for, Kirishima-san?" he asked, apprehensive.

"Yes, and I also found something even more interesting," the brown-eyed man replied, holding up the drawing he'd cached.

Mikari bent his head to look. "Ah," he mused, remembering, "that must be what he was drawing last week at the coffee shop."

"You look pretty comfortable," Kirishima pressed–for the picture was that of a dozing Mikari, penciled the previous Saturday when he and Ijuuin had inadvertently met for coffee.

"Just resting my eyes," Mikari replied, snickering at the memory of his words.

"When was this made? Before or after you two got together?"

Mikari froze.

Kirishima sighed, exasperated.

"Don't do that, I'm not going to judge you for being gay. Practically half of Marukawa is too; in fact, I myself am bisexual."

Mikari visibly relaxed. "Before," he replied. "This was done last Saturday (at least, I'm pretty sure it was) and we started going out on Wednesday."

Kirishima smiled cleverly. "Based on how often he unconsciously mentions you and how much time it seems like you spend together, I would have guessed sooner, but these idiots can never get their act together til just before you're about to walk away from them."

Mikari felt with sudden certainty that Kirishima was talking about his own partner.

"I don't know," he replied, uncertain, "I would have waited for him."

Kirishima sighed again, then turned to the boy, his expression serious. "Look, that might make sense to you now, knowing as you do that he did, in the end, choose you, but you have to remember you couldn't have known at the time. You can't wait forever for someone who leaves you doubting your place in their heart. Know your value, and if they won't commit, they're not worth it."

Mikari laughed nervously, "I feel like I should respond with 'Yes, sir.'"

Kirishima chuckled. "I thought I had better give you some 'wise words from your elders', just in case. You shouldn't have to worry about this one, though. Once he gets attached he tends to _stay_ attached."

"Yes, sir," Mikari replied, all mock-gravity, trying to hold back his laughter.

They had a chuckle, then Mikari got up saying he'd better check on Ijuuin quickly in case he needed anything. While he was gone, Kirishima went through the rest of the paper stash, coming across another affectionately drawn portrait of the mangaka's new boyfriend and–gratifyingly–the conclusion to the needed volume. When Mikari returned, he found the editor on his feet, ready to return to the office.

"I suppose I should apologize to you," the black-haired boy told him, "given I'm the reason he's sick."

"Ah, so you _were_ the ' _dear sick friend_ '," Kirishima mused, humored by the memory of Asano's wording at the Wednesday meeting. "Really, I should have trusted my instinct that it was you, all things considered." The editor chuckled. "Honestly, he ought to have known he would catch what you had, but apparently lovesickness is just as contagious as any other disease."

A/N: And that's a wrap! Never fear, though, as I've grown attached to this duo and am seriously considering writing a sequel. Until then!


End file.
